


'tis the damn season

by nucodiangelo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, Holidays, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Polish Eddie Kaspbrak, Public Blow Jobs, Romance, buzzcut beverly marsh, i might be self-inserting a little bit, porn with lots of plot, talk of internalised homophobia, the losers are stoners i just know they are, the losers club reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nucodiangelo/pseuds/nucodiangelo
Summary: “Fuck me for trying!” Eddie groans, taking a long angry inhale of smoke, coughing slightly as he says, “I just think we owe it to the others to fucking try to get along. You know, get in the fucking holiday spirit.”Richie kicks his foot against the railing of the porch, looking very uncomfortable and tense, “Suppose so.” He sighs, and then, “I can get along with you just fine. I don’t need a fucking heart to heart. I’m civil and over it.”Eddie scowls, “You’re over it?”A tale of old friends, misunderstandings, the holidays, public indecency, and forgiveness.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, background benverly - Relationship, background bike - Relationship, background stanpat - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 92





	'tis the damn season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flashbacksandechoes (xpd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpd/gifts).



> For the sake of this fic, chapter 1 happened in like 2008, and Pennywise died the first time the Losers fought It. The plot of this is set in 2020 (no pandemic bc we already have to deal with that in real life)  
> Title is from the Taylor Swift song with the same title, alternatively this fic could be named after the Joni Mitchell song Blue Motel Room.  
> Made a little playlist for this fic, to set the vibes, so check it out to listen while you read, if that’s your thing: https://music.apple.com/no/playlist/you-can-run-but-only-so-far/pl.u-38oWXLbtY86MvN  
> Dedicated to Domi, for inspiring me to finish this. Cheers to Christmas fic on Valentines-day!
> 
> quick TW for anxiety, one cancer / addiction mention, alcohol, weed, internalised homophobia, and mentions of canon violence!

_“And when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”_

_\- Charles Bukowski_

The windshield fogs up from the cold outside the car, snow falling heavy and fast, and the windshield wipers work for dear life to clear Eddie’s line of vision. Eddie’s hands are ice cold where they’re wrapped around the steering wheel, but it has nothing to do with the temperature. The car is warm and nice, some psychedelic indie pop Beverly put on is playing from the stereo. He taps his fingers nervously against the leather of the wheel in time with the beat of the music, staring straight ahead at the snowy roads stretched out before them. Beverly is in the seat next to him, legs curled up under her body and a huge scarf wrapped around her shoulders like a blanket, and she’s humming slightly along with the non-distinctive vocals of the song. Eddie’s anxiety is gnawing at the inside of his chest.

“How much longer?” Beverly yawns, wrapping the scarf tighter around her shoulders, glancing over at Eddie.

He glances down at the time on the dashboard in front of him, “Uh, like an hour and fifteen minutes? We’re just outside Gardiner.”

She nods, seemingly happy with the answer.

“Do you know if the others are all coming?” He asks, as the song switches over to something completely different, one of the few jazz songs Eddie had added onto the playlist last week just to get Bev to stop sending him the link to it. He has no idea why it was so important to her that he participated in making their road trip playlist.

Bev raises her eyebrows at him, “If what you’re asking me is whether Richie’s coming, then yes. He tweeted about it this morning.”

“Of course he fucking did.” Eddie grumbles, staring at his fingers, “It’s such a shitty publicity stunt. Like, _oh, look you guys I am not a complete ass! I’m going back to my humble little hometown for the holidays_.” He warps his voice into something resembling Richie’s nasally tone, and Bev snorts next to him.

“I don’t think going home to visit family is a publicity stunt…”

“No, not the actual going. The tweeting. The having to brag about it on the internet. Like, yeah, asshole. Most people go home for the holidays, you’re not fucking special.”

Bev hums, “I’m sorry, but you sound insane. His PR team probably asked him to tweet about it so his followers would know he isn’t in LA. It’s a pretty normal thing to do. Bill tweeted too. Like a general, _sorry I probably won’t be on the internet for a week, see you after Christmas_.”

“Do people actually care enough to want to know where they are at all times? Richie is like a D-list celebrity, and Bill has published one book.”

She shrugs, “People are weird. There’s fan pages for Richie on twitter and tumblr. People write self-insert fanfiction about him; they’re very fond of his shoulders.” She sounds entirely amused.

Eddie grumbles, feeling irritated and anxious, and changes the topic before he can think too hard about what she just said, “I actually meant what I asked. Is everyone coming back?”

“They always have, you know. Bill, Mike, Ben, Stan and Richie. They’ve been back for every Christmas since high school. I think Stan and Richie might go home for every Hanukkah too.”

“Oh.” Eddie says, thinking about how the last time he was back in Derry was probably five years ago now, the first Christmas after his and Richie’s big fight, the year they all left Derry to go to college. “So we’re just assholes then.”

Bev snorts, “I suppose. I don’t think any of them expects us to come, to be fair.”

“You haven’t spoken to any of them about it?” Eddie hisses, feeling the insane need to turn the car around and drive right back to New York. He and Bev can spend the holidays at her cosy Greenwich studio apartment, eating takeout and watching reruns on the TV. They won’t have to deal with all their childhood friends silently judging them for moving and never looking back. He grits his teeth together.

“Not since Bill called me with the invitation. I told him I would consider it, but that’s what I tell him every year. I didn’t feel like making a big deal out of it. It was twelve years since I moved out of Derry, this fall.”

Eddie hums, “No one blames you for getting out, Bev.”

She bumps her elbow into his arm, “Then no one blames you either.”

“I’m pretty sure I can think of a few people who blame me for being a dick that never leaves New York. I haven’t spoken to Mike in two years, and it’s even longer since I spoke to Stan last.”

“He’s busy with his beautiful wife.” She says, “I talked to him a few months back, actually. He’s finishing his PhD in the spring. I don’t think he likes talking to me when Richie isn’t…” There’s a hint of sadness to her voice. The same old wound, of being without Richie in her life. Eddie bites his teeth together against the guilt he feels.

“Mike still sends me postcards from his travels.” Eddie says, feeling very guilty, “All they ever say is _hope you're good, love Mike_. I can never make myself write back.”

She sighs, “Yeah, Eddie. I’ve seen them on your fridge. I once knocked them all down when I was getting juice in the middle of the night; remember how long you yelled at me for breaking your Chicago bean magnet?”

“It was my favourite!” Eddie argues, “You were a guest in my house and you broke my favourite magnet.”

Bev just laughs, head thrown back against the headrest, “I bought you a new one, didn’t I? I ordered it online and spent my entire grocery budget on overnight shipping.”

“I know. Thank you.” He smiles, and then, “I still cannot believe you chose me. When we all split up, after the fight. Everyone else chose Richie.”

Bev snorts again, “I didn’t choose you. We lived in the same city, and Richie was an asshole about the whole thing. Stan might have chosen Richie because those two are like, fucking glued at the metaphorical hip, but Bill, Ben and Mike never wanted to pick sides. I think Richie just reached out to them more than you did, after it all went down.”

“I didn’t actually mean to start up this conversation again. I just wanted to… Thank you. For sticking by me when I really needed a friend.”

Bev lets out a non-committal hum, picking at her nails, as if she doesn’t want Eddie to know how much his gratefulness actually means to her, “So are you like, not going to talk to him at all? I know it’s a party, but there’s not going to be too many people there. Only us Losers, the Denbrough’s, the Uris’, the Tozier’s and Patty.”

Eddie frowns at the part of the windshield the wipers can’t quite reach, dirty snow building up in his peripheral vision, and wonders briefly if they can still be called that, the Losers, if they haven’t all spoken together in years, “I wasn’t planning on like, completely ignoring him. If that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll be polite and make small talk. I’ll even ask him about his work on SNL, if I’m feeling particularly nice.”

“Oh, wow. A real people person.” Bev snorts, “You two used to be inseparable.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He huffs, “And then he insinuated I would never survive on my own because of how my mom coddled and restrained me my entire childhood, and tried to fucking adopt me as a charity case.”

She groans, “I know what happened, Eddie.”

“You brought it up!”

“I think you did, actually. I’m just trying to keep up.” She laughs, “I don’t know, Eddie. Haven’t we held our grudges for long enough? It happened, I yelled at him for it, Mike tried to act like a mediator, it didn’t work, and then you and Richie split up like some old married couple, and he got full custody of the boys, while you claimed me.”

He splutters, his ears burning, “Fuck off. It wasn’t like that. He was being an ass, and then _he_ got upset with _me_ for being angry at him for it, so I just stopped picking up his calls. He never even fucking apologized for it, you know?”

“I know.” She reaches for his hand clutched over the gear-stick, and gives it a firm squeeze, “I’m sorry. You know I think the whole situation was a bit weird. That’s all.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. I just… I still can’t wrap my mind around Richie saying that to you.”

“Me neither.” He sighs.

They’re quiet for a long time, both of them stuck in their own heads. Eddie thinks about the summer of 2015, when they were all preparing to go off for college. Eddie had spent most days over at Richie’s, helping him pack, and avoiding his mother, who was over herself with worry at the thought of Eddie moving out to New York, which she deemed dirty and full of drug addicts and disease. One day, Richie had looked over at him as they were going through Richie’s books, sorting them into _keep_ , _toss_ and _donate_ piles, and said, _hey, are you sure you really want to go to New York?_

“What?” Eddie had asked, confused, “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“I just…” Richie coughs, “I don’t like the thought of you alone.”

“Why wouldn’t I be ok alone?” Eddie frowned, putting down the copy of _Moby Dick_ he had been holding into the _donation_ pile next to him, “Also, Bev is going to be in New York with me. I won’t be alone.”

“Yeah, well. I think, uh, maybe you should come with me to LA. UCLA offered you that great scholarship.” Richie mumbled, and then, “Hey, did you know Jack Black and Jim Morrison went to UCLA?”

Eddie glanced up at him again, brows furrowed, “What? I’ve already said yes to the NYU scholarship, and accepted student housing. I’ve bought a non-refundable ticket. Why would I go to LA?”

Richie looked embarrassed, a deep flush over his cheekbones, “Because I will be there. I would just like to… I don’t want you to be alone, or without me. Or I could come with you to New York! I just think it would be better if we were _together_.”

Eddie’s heart picked up, “Why?”

“Uh. You know… Your mom hasn’t exactly prepared you for being on your own. And you and I are good together. I think it would be nice to get an apartment together. I could look out for you.” Richie said, scratching the back of his neck nervously, not meeting Eddie’s eye.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eddie had asked, feeling furious and ashamed at the implications Richie was making, arms crossed over his chest. He read an article once that crossing your arms was a sign of insecurity and defensiveness, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care much about what his body language was telling Richie.

Richie had looked really small where he sat, legs pulled up to his chest, chin tucked over his knees, eyes large and shiny. It reminded Eddie of the way he had looked back at the Barrens, underneath the kissing bridge, when they were thirteen and Beverly was telling them about what she had seen when she got caught in the deadlights. “We all would have died, if we hadn’t killed It.” She had said, hair fiery around her pale face, eyes broken, “I saw it. How it would happen, to all of us.” She said it with such certainty, such fear and sadness, that none of them had even thought of doubting her.

And Richie, voice small for the first time in his entire life, had asked her to tell them how. He had looked, for lack of a better description, like a scared animal, all big eyes and frozen limbs. Richie, who was constantly in motion, picking at things, bouncing his legs, shaking his head, kicking around, had sat completely still, both back when they were thirteen - sitting in the tall grass looking golden and warm in the light of the hot afternoon sun - and again, when they were nineteen - on the floor, looking pale and sullen in the low light of his bedside lamp. He had looked afraid both times, as if whatever answer he was looking for was going to hurt him terribly.

Beverly had looked at him with a resigned look on her face, and simply said, “We would forget. Each other, and Derry. And we would grow sad, and lonely and desperate for something we couldn’t ever remember having. We couldn’t live without each other.” And she leaves it at that. They all know what that means.

Stan had gone incredibly pale, and Bill had looked furious, as if it was somehow his fault, and Mike, always the calmest of them, had nodded and said, “Well, good thing It’s dead, then.”

And as Bill cut the half-moon shape into their palms and they held each other's trembling hands, blood mixing and dripping down their fingers, they had been calm and brave, knowing that the horrors of that summer was over, and they were alive and together.

“Just… You know. What if you get lonely, or get anxious on the subway. It’s an overwhelming city!” Richie had said, staring down at the carpeted floor of his childhood bedroom, while Blondie was cooning _the communication’s gone, something has to be wrong_ from his record player, still not meeting Eddie’s furious eyes. “I want you to be out there _with me_. I want to be able to watch out for you, take care of you.”

And Eddie, who had spent his entire childhood being told he needed help, couldn’t make his own decisions, was too sick, or weak, or dependent, felt like his sense of security was crashing down around him. Here Richie was - one of the few people in Eddie’s life who didn’t treat him like he was made of glass, someone fragile and breakable - telling him he didn’t think Eddie would be alright on his own. He spent a few quiet seconds staring at Richie in shock and embarrassment, then got up from the floor and stormed out the door, ignoring Richie calling after him.

The few last weeks Eddie had left in Derry before his department to New York was spent cooped up in his room, packing and avoiding Richie’s persistent calls. His mother had to disconnect the house phone on week two, as the calls were driving her insane. Bev had showed up outside his bedroom window one night, looking furious, and demanded he tell her why Richie was moping. He had let her climb in through his window, and sat her down on the bed, and then had spent three hours ranting about the situation, which had ended up with him revealing a few too many details about his own personal _feelings_. Bev had reached out for his hand, which was cold and clammy with anxiety, and she had run her thumb over his palm, and said, very kindly, with a voice she resigned for delicate situations, “You’re so strong, Eddie. You’ll be fine. We’ll look out for each other. We’ll be brave, and we’ll leave this shithole town behind, and we’ll be fine.”

Bev and Eddie had gone to New York the following week, and the Losers had all seen them off at the airport in Bangor, but because Eddie’s mom was there, Richie hadn’t been able to pull him aside to say anything. Eddie had sort of hoped he would at least try, so he could apologise. So they wouldn’t separate on such horrible terms. Eddie had been aching for it, for Richie to sooth out his anger and reproach, like he always was so good at, to hold his shoulders gently and say, _Eds, I’m sorry, don’t be angry at me anymore, you know I’m just an idiot sometimes, please forgive me I didn’t mean it._ But Richie had just stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking sullen and upset, and hadn’t even given him a hug goodbye. Eddie had cried in the tiny airplane bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, his face gastly and splotchy in the fluorescent overhead lights, and when he finally came back to his seat, Bev bought them both tiny little bottles of red wine with her fake ID, and they had gotten so drunk they didn’t remember the rest of the journey, or how they had even got to campus from the airport.

He glances out the window again, staring at the darkness outside the car, and when he speaks again, he sounds slightly choked up, “It just still sucks so bad. I never. Fuck. He was always a bit of a dick, and he used humour to cover up anything serious, and was a bit allergic to sincerity. But when it came down to it, he was the one person who was always there for me. The one person in my life I could always rely on to understand me.”

“I know he was, honey.”

“He used to climb up the tree in my backyard to crawl through my window on nights my mom decided I was too unwell to come out, or needed rest, just to hang out with me for a while. So I wouldn’t get lonely. He always understood when he needed to be serious and kind.”

Bev sighs, “Yeah, he was a real great friend to me when I first moved from Derry, with the whole… Dad thing. He was the first person I told the whole story to.”

“I know.” Eddie says, staring at his hands on the steering wheel, “We trusted him with the bad stuff because at the end of the day he cared more about us than anyone else in the world.”

“Do you know that he stood up to bullies for me once, years before I met the rest of you Losers?” She asks, voice tiny and shy, and Eddie can’t help but glance over. Her eyes are distant, as if she’s stuck in a memory.

Intrigued, Eddie asks, “No, I didn’t. When was this?”

“Last day of fifth grade. Sally Mueller - may she rest in peace and all that, Marcia Fadden and Greta Bowie were making fun of me, calling me names and shit. You remember how they were. Richie walked up to me after school and told me that they only hated me because they’re classists, and because I was prettier than all three of them combined. It was the first time we ever spoke.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that. I remember Richie telling me you two had talked a bit, but I had no idea he went out of his way to make you feel better.”

Beverly smiles, “He was always doing things to make us feel better.”

Eddie frowns, eyes locked on the Welcome to Derry sign approaching up ahead and tries to wrestle his anxiety down to a manageable buzz in the back of his mind. They cross the city lines before he knows it, driving along the long stretch of main road, past the hills and farmlands and fields that lay outside of the little town. The Hanlon’s family farm’s lights twinkle on top of the hill to their right, and Eddie thinks about long summer afternoons spent playing out in the field, drinking beers they stole from Mike’s grandfather under the stars, counting fireflies and listening to the cicadas in the woods. They used to dream of leaving Derry, going off into the world and escaping the constant fear they all had that they were going to succumb to the town that tried to kill them that one summer. On the stereo, Julius Fernando Casablancas starts to sing about how _there’s no one I approve of more or root for more than myself._ Eddie feels himself bite the inside of his cheek hard, trying not to tear up.

“It’ll be fine, you know?” Bev asks, voice very soft and kind, “We’re all adults, and we used to be best friends. That doesn’t just go away, no matter how long it’s been since we talked to each other and who’s fighting. We went through the whole _alien Oleg Popov the kid killer_ thing together. Trauma connects people. We formed a bond that summer, and I don’t think it’s ever going to fade or break, no matter what happens. We’re always going to be friends.”

“I suppose so.” Eddie chuckles at that, “I just wish I didn’t feel like someone might punch me in the face, or like, poison my drink.”

Bev scoffs, “You must think very highly of yourself if you think any of the guys would risk jail to avenge Richie over your weird complicated breakup.”

Eddie just frowns at her. He doesn’t want to admit that the implication that he and Richie had ever been anything but friends makes his heart do silly little flips in his chest. Beverly knows what she’s doing when she jokes about it, but that still never stops her from teasing him about his childhood crush on Richie.

“And _if_ it goes to hell, you and I can always leave.”

He lets out a tired sigh, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll keep the car keys in my pocket the entire time.”

She scoffs, “I bet you will.”

“Are you nervous about seeing Ben again?” He asks, drumming his fingers against the wheel, just to distract himself from the tight feeling in his chest.

She’s quiet for way too long before replying, “I guess. Not more nervous than seeing the rest of them.”

He frowns, “Well, you two were. I don’t know. Things were heating up a bit, between you and Ben, right before he went off to college.”

Bev gives him a sharp look, one Eddie recognizes immediately that she’s debating if she wants to be honest with her answer, or hit him back where it hurts. She seems to go for the first option, sighing in defeat before saying, “It wasn’t like that. I think… I was really confused back then. I was so fucked up from what I went through in Derry; what we went through. Plus, I had just met Kay and was struggling with my sexuality.” She grimaces, “I know he liked me, and I don’t like how I treated him, first with the whole Bill thing, and then my relationship with Kay. I don’t think we left things great, in the end.”

“So, what I’m hearing is, you _are_ nervous about seeing him again.”

“Your insane need to psychoanalyse every answer I give you is honestly astounding, Eddie. You should have gotten a fucking psycology PhD instead, with the way you love poking around in my brain. Fuck, I don’t know! Maybe a bit. I don’t like how you act like mine and Ben’s thing can even be compared to you and Richie.”

Eddie scoffs, “I didn’t mean to do that. Also, fuck you.”

“At least I know Ben is going to be kind about the awkward tension between us. Richie might be a dick. And you’ll _definitely_ be a dick. And then Stan will become a dick, to defend Richie’s honour. And Bill will try really hard not to be a dick and fail miserably, because he just wants us all to get along but doesn’t know how to fix things. And then I’ll have to be a dick, just to back you up. Mike and Ben will sneak out the back door to go smoke a joint in the backyard, just to avoid us all being dicks, because they’re both physically incapable of being dicks.”

“Thanks, you’re really making me feel confident about this whole situation.”

“Really, Eddie. I’m not too worried. It would have been worse if you hadn’t agreed to come with me.” She says, leaning across the gear stick to pat him softly on the shoulder, “It’ll be nice to have at least one friendly face there that doesn’t think I’m a complete bitch for not showing up until now.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

They check into the Holiday Inn, and Eddie spends about half-an-hour making sure there are no bedbugs and that all the towels are stain free. Then, he showers with the water cranked so hot it almost burns his skin, something he’s been doing since he was a kid. He remembers reading an article about how hot water kills germs, and ever since he would crank the water up to unbearable degrees, and then just got used to it. It’s not very good for his skin, and he has in recent years learned that water needs to be about 65 degrees to kill bacteria, which would seriously hurt or even kill humans, so it doesn’t really matter how hot his showers are. He gets dressed into his carefully picked out party outfit, consisting of a red sweater vest over a nice black button up, and black jeans.

When he meets Bev out in the hallway, it’s clear she’s coming for throats tonight. She’s wearing a long black silk dress, with a knitted cardigan with clowns in red outfits all over it, which looks like she got it from the thrift store for about three dollars. He doesn’t know if the cardigan is her idea of a joke. He thinks it might be, she’s interesting like that. Her dark red lipstick stands in stark contrast with her pale skin. She must have brought a trimmer with her, because her buzzcut looks fresh. Eddie tries not to think about the reason why she keeps it shaved in the first place, knowing it’ll only fill him with rage to think about.

“Oh, you look dashing.” She grins, “And hey look, we’re matching.”

“They’re going to think we planned it.” Eddie huffs, offering his arm for her, “Let's get this over with.”

She snorts, “Oh, please. We’re either going to have fun, or we’re going to get so shitfaced we don’t even remember what happened tomorrow morning.”

“Good plan.” Eddie laughs.

It’s a short ride over to Witcham Street, and they make the cabdriver drop them off a few houses down from the Denbrough’s house, so they can get some fresh air before arriving. They left Eddie’s car at the motel so they didn’t have to come pick it up in the morning if tonight went to shit. As they walk up the street towards the house, Eddie’s hands shake against his side. Bev glances over at him and reaches out for his hand, grabbing it tightly in hers. Her touch immediately brings him back into his body, and it shocks him every time how grounding it is to feel her small hand in his.

“Calm down, _kochanie_. It’ll be alright.” She smiles sweetly at him, “If anyone’s rude to you I’ll bite them. Even Bill. It’s not below me.”

That makes Eddie snort, “I don’t doubt it, _serduszko_.”

There’s two people out on the porch, smoking cigarettes, Eddie can hear their murmured conversation from the end of the driveway. As Eddie and Bev approach, they turn around to greet them.

“Oh, hello!” Bill says, looking surprised. Eddie immediately wants to turn around and head home. Why didn’t they call ahead and tell Bill they would be coming? Why didn’t Bev tell him she hadn’t? Bill doesn’t look upset to see them. Rather the opposite. His entire face lights up in the dark evening light, flashing his teeth in a wide grin, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. His hair is longer than it was the last time Eddie saw him, but then again that was five years ago. He’s wearing dark jeans and some hideous Christmas sweater with half a reindeer on it. There’s bells on the reindeer’s antlers that jingles as he waves at them.

“Hi, Bill. Hello, Mike.” Bev says, stopping on the bottom of the steps, grinning up at them, “Don’t you two look incredibly handsome”. Eddie can tell she’s nervous by the way she squeezes his hand.

“Beverly! Eddie!” Mike smiles warmly, “What a nice surprise!” Eddie can practically hear the exclamation points in his voice.

“Hi.” He mumbles, feeling like a cornered animal from the way he can’t seem to meet their eye. It’s stupid. Bill and Mike are the least intimidating Losers in this whole situation. He clenches and unclenches the hand that isn’t holding Bev’s. His palms are sweaty.

“You didn’t tell me you had decided to come.” Bill grins, walking down the steps, “I’m very glad you did!”

Bev lets go of Eddie’s hand to give Bill a tight hug, “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I thought it would be a fun surprise!”

Bill grins at Eddie over her shoulder, “Oh, it sure is! Can’t wait for the others to see you two.”

Eddie tries to hide his grimace at that. There’s not even one part of him that thinks Stan, Richie and Ben will be very happy to see the pair of them, but he doesn’t want to argue with Bill, who looks happy and excited, like a puppy. Bill lets go of Bev and turns to him, grabbing Eddie’s upper arm to give him a swift side-hug. Eddie thinks about being ten, twelve, thirteen, euphoric with the knowledge that Big Bill was his best friend. That Bill Denbrough, with his fast bike and long legs, liked Eddie and wanted to hang out with him, despite the fact that his mother didn’t let him do most things Bill, Richie and Stan wanted to do. Being thirteen, climbing down the wall in the basement of the house on Neibolt street, into the underbelly of Derry, making his way through the sewer tunnels crawling like veins under the town, with his closest friends by his side - Bill leading them into the cavern of the monster; Being young, and so afraid, but also brave and sure of himself and his friends. Remembers Pennywise with It’s arms around Bill, telling them that if they left, It would spare their lives and go back to sleep for another 27 years. Let It have Bill; let It finish off both of the Denbrough children, and It would be satisfied. Eddie had not for a moment thought of leaving Bill down there. Not for a second, even. He was willing to die, down there in the filth, among the corpses of every child Derry had swallowed whole. Dying for Bill Denbrough hadn’t seemed like such a horrible thing, to Eddie.

Mike greets them as they come up the stairs with a warm hug and a firm pat on the back, “Want to have a cigarette with us before you head inside? It’s sort of mellow in there. Bill’s mom refuses to turn on anything but Buddy Holly.”

“And as much as we love some Buddy Holly, it’s been two hours of it, and Richie won’t stop asking my mom to slow dance with him.” Bill grins, digging into his pocket for a lighter and his pack of cigarettes.

“Oh, yes please.” Bev sighs, reaching for the pack, “Eddie wouldn’t let me roll down the window in the car to smoke. I haven’t had one since we stopped in Boston to have dinner.”

Eddie leans against the banister, crossing his arms over his chest, “I don’t want my car to smell like cigarette smoke.” He argues.

“It already does!” She laughs as she flicks the lighter. The flame illuminates her face in a red glow. “You know, since both of us smoke and drive around all the time.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at her. He has his own pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but he still takes the one Bill offers him. He has never been very good at letting Bill down. At least he didn’t use to be. Bev passes him the lighter once she’s done with it, and he exhales deeply as he lights the end of his cigarette. It really is a horrible habit. He picked it up during his freshman year at NYU, when he and Bev lived off food stamps, and spent long afternoons studying in the campus parks, smoking cigarettes and drinking shitty iced-coffees just to avoid having to turn on the AC unit in Eddie’s shoebox apartment. Bev always smoked, even when they were children, and Eddie never really saw the appeal until he bummed one of her once when he was freaking out over midterm season. Upon realizing it calmed down his anxiety, he finally understood why Bev might have needed that comfort when she was younger and unsafe. He was a lost cause - no amount of cancer-related fear could stop him at that point. Beverly smokes marlboro reds, like a cliche, and Eddie prefers camel filters, also like a cliche. Bill seems to smoke lucky strikes, which is what Eddie remembers Zack Denbrough used to smoke when they were children. The smoke is thick in Eddie’s throat, smokier and heavier than what he’s used to. Eddie’s acquainted enough with bumming cigarettes from random people outside bars, so he’s learned how to just deal with the slight discomfort.

There’s a bit of a tense silence as they all inhale and exhale the smoke. Eddie tries not to look so nervous, and glances at Mike for a friendly face, thinking of the post cards. Mike’s gotten bigger, since high school. His shoulders are broad, and his arms are large and defined under his tight sweater. He catches Eddie looking and smiles.

“So, how’s New York?” Bill asks, sounding a bit uncertain on what to say to them to keep the conversation flowing. Eddie respects him for trying to start the smalltalk, no matter how awkward it is.

“Cold.” Bev says, “And busy. I’m sort of glad to escape it during the holidays. I spent an hour in line at Costco yesterday just to get a new toothbrush and some travel bottles for my shampoo.”

Mike laughs, “Yeah, well, at least you have other store options. The shop-and-stop has been so busy this week we had to drive over to Bangor to get the Christmas ham.”

“And it’s not like it’s warm here. Dad and I were up at the asscrack of d-dawn shovelling the driveway, and you can’t even tell what a great job we did because there’s already five extra inches now.” Bill sighs.

“I’m glad you could make it safely through the snow.” Mike smiles, “Heard Boston had a rough night, and the city had trouble clearing the streets for traffic today.”

Eddie shrugs, “It was fine, a bit of traffic through Bunker Hill. Nothing too bad.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re here.” Bill says, looking genuine. It’s almost too much for Eddie to handle, who wasn’t really expecting their kindness.

“Yeah.” Bev smiles tensely, smoke pouring out of her lips as she speaks, “I sure hope the party makes up for the eight hours we just spent in the car. What kind of alcohol do you have?”

Bill laughs, “Richie and I went a bit amok in the liquor store, honestly. We have red and white wine, puh-Prosecco, beer, tequila, vodka, some sort of peach schnapps, uh, bacardi? I feel like there’s more, but I honestly can’t remember, I think I might have b-blacked out in there. We spent like a hundred dollars.”

Bev whistles, clearly impressed, “You had me at tequila.”

“Figured. Don’t know why I bothered listing everything else.” Bill smiles.

“What about you Eddie? What’s your poison?” Mike asks as he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bannister.

Bev snorts, and replies before Eddie even has the chance to, “If you get to see Eddie take vodka shots tonight, you’ll be very lucky. Eight-vodka-shots-Eddie is my personal favorite.”

Bill chuckles, “Ah, yes, I remember. Hey, is it because you’re Polish?”

“Oh, yeah, because I’m so connected to my heritage.” Eddie huffs, “I don’t know. I can’t stand tequila, so vodka is the next best thing.”

“I hear that.” Mike nods, “I can’t do tequila either.”

“Just admit you’re both weak and move on.” Bev grins, cigarette dangling from her lips as she speaks. It’s a thing she usually does when she wants to appear breezy in front of people who intimidate her; he’s seen her do it a million times when men come up to them on the street, or outside bars. Eddie however, usually just get angry at the feeling of intimidation. Once, they got thrown out of a club because Eddie broke the nose of a man who wouldn’t take Bev’s clear rejection seriously. She had gotten that uneasy look in her eye, that told Eddie she was actually terrified, and Eddie had seen red, and suddenly Bev was leading him outside with two security guards at their back. She had laughed the entire way home, so Eddie didn’t regret it.

“Tequila tastes like ass! And it’s usually the same alcohol percentage as vodka, so it’s practically the same thing! It’s clear liquor.” Eddie huffs, feeling himself get worked up. He’s had this argument with Bev a hundred times already over the years.

He remembers being fourteen and drinking liquor the Losers smuggled from their parents' alcohol cabinets and down into the clubhouse in water bottles. Richie had talked him into doing a shot of tequila, and it had been one of the worst flavours Eddie has ever tasted in his life. He has been gagging for about thirty minutes afterwards, which Bev and Richie wouldn’t let him live down for the next year, even though he turned out to be an expert at vodka shots. That’s how it always was with the Losers; you could be good at anything, do something cool or make a joke that had everyone else howling with laughter, but if you fucked up once, it was used against you for as long as they remembered what you had done. It always irked Eddie, who wasn’t an expert at the Boys Club etiquette, like Richie, Stan and Bill always seemed to be. Mike and Ben were too nice and good for any of them to really lay into them properly, and Bev was cool and good at everything, so no one had anything to use against her, really.

Bev just grins at him, all teeth, “Whatever you say, _księżniczko_.”

“Oh, fuck all the way _off_. Don’t use my own mother tongue against me.”

Bev fixes him with narrowed eye and a mischevious smile across her lips, “Tell me to fuck off one more time and I’ll tell Richie about the mother tongue thing.”

Eddie gapes at her, “What the fuck? Don’t fucking do that. I’ll go get my car and I’ll leave you here, you know I will.”

Mike crosses his arms over his chest, which flexes his biceps ridiculously, and looks very amused, “Shall we take this argument inside?”

Eddie’s heart rises up into his throat, but he nods wordlessly, letting Bill hold open the door for him. The hallway is warm and dimly lit, and there’s music coming from the living room, some the Growlers song Eddie doesn’t know the name of. _Find your lover or your flash of fame, before you wake up from your dream._ Bill toes off his shoes and hurries towards the living room, planting himself firmly in the entryway with his hands on his hips, looking smug and expectantly at the people in the other room. He looks, Eddie thinks, like he did on stage in their fifth grade spring play, excited and bold; the brightest thing in the room. He has spent a lot of time since he understood he was interested in guys wondering why he didn’t have a crush on Bill growing up, beyond hero worship and a sense of brotherhood; all it’s come down to is the annoying realisation that Richie was the only one for him.

“Look who we found out on the street.” He tells the room, which goes uncharastically silent.

Eddie glances over at Bev, who has taken off her scarf and shoes. She shrugs at him, “Still time to turn around.” She whispers.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Mike grins at them from where he’s putting their shoes up on the rack to make space in the hallway, “Bill won’t let you leave until at least four in the morning. It’s a tradition. Last year he physically held Stan and Patty back when they tried to leave around midnight.”

Eddie sighs dramatically, trying not to let Mike see how fucking nervous he is, as if he feigns aloofness, no one will be able to tell how close he is to a panic attack. He takes one last deep breath of air, and then walks over to glance into the living room over Bill’s shoulder. Maggie Tozier and Sharon Denbrough are peeking their heads out from the kitchen, red faced and eyes wide in pleasant surprise. Stan and his parents are over by the piano in the corner, looking like they were interrupted in a heated discussion. Patty - Eddie has seen enough pictures of her on Stan and Richie’s social media profiles to be able to recognize her instantly - is standing a few feet away from the Uris’, clutching a glass of red wine in one hand and a dinner roll in the other. Wentworth Tozier, Zack Denbrough and Arlene Hanscom are sitting on the sectional taking up most of the room, while Ben and Richie are sitting in the loveseat in front of the fireplace. Everyone is staring back at Eddie and Bev with wide, surprised eyes, facial expressions varying from slightly amused to absolute shock. To Eddie’s utter surprise, Stan is the first one to get up from his seat to greet them. He strides quickly over from the piano, pushing Bill out of the way to give Eddie a tight hug.

“Hi. We had no idea you were coming.” He murmurs over Bev’s shoulder as he hugs her, before pulling away and straightening out his shirt. He looks good, Eddie thinks. His hair is still as curly as ever, but has been contained slightly by some sort of gel, it seems. He’s wearing a suit, without any tie, and the top two buttons of his collared shirt are undone, in a very casual, sexy way. Eddie always thought Stan was a very pretty boy, when they grew up. Back when Eddie didn’t understand that what he was really afraid of wasn’t leprosy, but the things his mother had told him happened to boys like him. Boys who wanted to be looked at by other boys; wanted to kiss, and hold hands with and love other boys.

Eddie coughs slightly, to cover up how incredibly nervous and overwhelmed he feels, “No, sorry. Bev didn’t tell me that she hadn’t RSVP’d until we were right outside Gardiner. I would have let Bill know myself if I hadn’t thought she had done it already.”

Bev just grins, “I like a dramatic entrance.” She shrugs, then moves around them and into the living room in one fluid motion. Eddie knows she’s putting on a show. He’s spent most of his early twenties watching the way Bev can command a room with her presence. She’ll smile, and laugh, and flash a bit of shoulder, and the room is enchanted with her. He also knows she only does this, performing, when she’s nervous and wants to take control of the situation. He knows this because it’s the exact thing Richie used to do, when he was still scrawny and awkward, and had just learned that it was better to make people laugh with you than have them laugh at you. He would make himself seen, with large movement and a loud voice, and would flirt and joke until everyone was intrigued with him.

Eddie follows Stan, Bill and Mike into the warm room and thinks that maybe it’s better to cope with insecurities in social situations the way Bev and Richie does, with flair and grace. All he seems to be able to do when he feels like this is retreat into himself and snap at anyone who tries to coax him back out.

Sharon and Zack Denbrough come over to greet them, offering drinks and snacks, and thanking them for coming. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in decades.” Sharon says to Eddie, her eyes warm and her grip on his arm very stern, as if she’s scolding him with love, “You’ve grown a lot, since you moved.”

Eddie, who was still about 5’6 when he left Derry for college, is relieved to find that people notice the way he’s grown at least three inches since then. He laughs tensely, feeling a bit put on the spot, “A little bit, yeah. It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Denbrough. Thanks for having us.”

She smiles at him, eyebrows arched high on her forehead, “I won’t allow you to call me that. I’m Sharon to you. I always was.”

Eddie smiles politely, but can’t help but notice the difference in how she’s carrying herself, compared to what he remembers from the Losers teenage years. After Georgie died, Bill’s parents had become hollow and reclusive. Catatonic, is the right word for it, Eddie supposes. They were parents of both a ghost and a grief-stricken boy, and they didn’t know how to deal with either. Bill had been angry, for a long time after the summer they had almost died down in the sewers to avenge Georgie, about the way his parents looked right past him. They did the basics, food on the table and bills paid in time; but they didn’t know how to be people anymore, and they definitely didn’t know how to be good parents to Bill anymore.

The Denbrough’s eventually walk back to their previous spots to interact with their other guests. The Uris’, still over by the piano, lift their drinks in unison, greeting them. Patty walks over from her awkward spot in the middle of the room to stand by Stan’s side, looking a bit out of place. She offers Eddie a warm hand, fingers long and palms a bit lighter in colour than the rest of her, “I’ve heard so much about you. Both of you.” She says, and when Eddie raises his eyebrows in surprise, she laughs, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bev laughs, “Right back at you! I’ve heard wonderful things.”

“Oh.” Patty sighs, looking very red over her tan cheeks, “Let me fix you two a drink. What do you want?”

Bev glances over at the loveseat, where Ben and Richie are both just staring at them, looking very much like they can’t decide how to react to Eddie and Beverly’s sudden entrance. Ben’s eyes are the size of saucers, and Richie looks like he’s debating leaving out the window, so it’s not exactly motivating or helping Eddie’s heartwrenching nerves. “Sorry, but do you want to do shots with me, Patty?”

Patty lets out a surprised laugh, and Stan looks incredibly fond, “I would love to.”

“That’s the spirit! Eddie?”

Eddie thinks about it for a few seconds, “No thanks. Later.” It probably wouldn’t be smart to get too drunk too quickly and end up throwing up in Mrs. Denbrough’s fancy upstairs bathroom. They had renovated it right before the Losers’ senior year, all white marble and shiny porcelain, and it always made Eddie nervous to use.

“Alright.” Bev grins, and reaches out for Patty’s hand to drag her towards the kitchen.

Stan looks after them for a moment, then turns back to Eddie, “Seems like she forgot about your drink. What do you want?”

Eddie, who very much feels like it would be easier for him to just get his own damn drink, sighs, “I’ll have a beer.”

Stan nods, and follows his wife into the kitchen without another word.

Mike pats him on the shoulder as he passes, sitting down on the edge of the couch, next to Ben’s mom, who sends Eddie an excited wave and a bright smile. Eddie feels very exposed, all of a sudden, alone in the middle of the room while every important person from his childhood pretends not to stare at him. He’s just about to follow Stan, Bev and Patty into the kitchen to avoid all the eyes on him, when Ben gets up and walks over, looking a bit red but friendly.

“Hi, Eddie.” He smiles, and pulls Eddie in for a rather bone crushing hug. Eddie almost disappears into Ben’s soft shoulder. He smells like pine trees and fresh linen, and it’s so strangely pleasing, Eddie finds himself melting into the hug, leaning his cheek against Ben’s shoulder, and patting his hands against Ben’s back. When Ben pulls back, he keeps his hands on Eddie’s upper arms, “It’s so nice to see you again. How have you been?”

Eddie thinks that’s a pretty loaded question, considering they have barely talked since they both moved away for college, and there’s no way Eddie can fit five years worth of feelings and experiences into a one sentence reply, so he just shrugs and says, “You know. Busy.” He waves his hand dismissively through the air.

Ben nods, and releases his hold on Eddie, looking a bit disappointed at Eddie’s short reply, “Right. Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s nice to see you too.” Eddie says, feeling a bit bad, “You look really good.”

Ben blushes deeply, looking shy and embarrassed, “You too, man. I like your hair like that. Longer.” He laughs, motioning slightly at his own head, as if Eddie doesn’t know where his hair is, “Hey, do you know what they’re doing in the kitchen?”

Eddie fights against everything in him to not roll his eyes at the blatantly obvious reason why Ben asks him this, “They’re doing tequila shots.”

“You don’t want one?”

“I don’t know if you remember, but I really can’t stand tequila, and I would like to warm up a bit before I start doing shots. So no. But go ahead, I’m sure there’s enough shot glasses in there for one more.”

Ben seems to think this over for a few seconds, and then nods shortly before heading into the kitchen, leaving Eddie once again to his own device.

Not quite sure where to put himself, Eddie wanders over to the wall next to the fireplace, leaning slightly and trying not to look so fucking tense. It’s a bad choice, because this puts him directly in front of Richie, who looks just as taken aback by this. Eddie wants to shove his entire foot into his mouth. He lets himself, for a moment, take Richie all in. He’s wearing some sort of hideous christmas sweater, which Eddie realises matches Bill’s, except that his is green while Bill’s is red, and Richie’s sweater has the butt end of the reindeer, two bells on it’s tiny tail. His hair is long and curly, framing his face around his ears, and falling into his eyes slightly. The glasses he’s wearing are new, from what he’s seen from recent pictures of him online, slightly thinner black frames with gold temples. Some part of Eddie - the part that feels overwhelmingly nostalgic at being back here, in Derry, in the Denbrough’s living room, with all the Losers in the same house as him again - wants to stride over to the loveseat and drop his legs into Richie’s lap, like he used to do when they were teenagers hanging out in the clubhouse reading comics and listening to music, or in the sofa at the back of the school library pretending to do homework, or one of the Losers living rooms watching movies.

Richie, who seems to have pulled himself together a bit, crosses his arms over his chest and smiles, “Hey, Eddie.” His voice sounds kind of pitchy.

Eddie coughs, feeling raw, “Richie.” He nods. He shoves his hands into the pocket of his jeans, which matches Richie’s insecure body language. God, he’s going to have a fucking panic attack. His fingers tingle numbly, and his spine feels cold. He fights the urge to shiver.

“You can sit down.” Richie says, uncrossing his arms so he can pat in the seat next to him, “I don’t bite. Not anymore.”

Eddie almost laughs at that. Feels the corner of his mouth pull upwards slightly against his own wishes, and wrinkles his nose to cover it up, “I’m waiting for my beer.”

Richie cocks his head to the side, “And Stan can’t hand it to you while you’re sitting down?”

Eddie - who can’t come up with a single excuse to stay standing except _if I sit next to you and let you make me laugh I might forgive you on the spot_ , or _I don’t know if I want to punch you or kiss you and I’m scared to find out which one I’ll end up doing_ , or _oh my god it’s been five years and I’m definitely still in love with you, so fuck me I guess_ \- sighs and walks over to sit on the armrest, as far away from Richie as possible. They sit in very tense silence for what feels like hours, both of them staring intensely at the fire in front of them, Richie sipping his drink slowly. _Hang Me up to Dry_ by Cold War Kids comes on the speakers behind the piano in the corner of the room, and Eddie feels himself tense up. The album _Robbers & Cowards_ had been released the year they were twelve, and Richie had become annoyingly engrossed with it. Then, the summer of the clown happened, and the Losers unanimously decided that _Hang Me up to Dry_ was going to be their song. _Careless in our summer clothes, splashing around in the muck and the mire. Fell asleep with stains, cake deep in the knees, what a pain, now hang me up to dry._ Richie used to put the vinyl on whenever they hung out in the Tozier’s living room, and thought it very funny to make Bill sing the _I’m pearly like the white, wh-whites of your eyes_ part. They would yell along to the lyrics, jumping around the room and grinning until their cheeks hurt.

“I love this album.” Richie says next to him.

Eddie glances over. From this angle, Richie’s jaw is sharp and his nose defined. Eddie looks away again, his head spinning. Back when they were fifteen, Eddie hadn’t been able to look at Richie for too long without feeling like his heart was going to fall right out of his chest, and Richie would be able to see it pumping blood and spilling all of Eddie’s secrets onto the concrete. That summer, when the Losers would spend long lazy morning by the Quarry, bathing and playing card games, and Richie would stand by the edge of the rocks and stretch his hands up above his head so the skin of his back pulled tightly across his shoulder blades and ribs, Eddie had decided that he would only let himself look at Richie when he absolutely had to.

The list of appropriate times to look went like this: i. When Richie laughed, because he did that all the time, his eyes crinkling and his chin rutting out, square and sharp, his head thrown back to expose the long lines of his pale neck. Richie wanted people to look at him when he laughed, Eddie knew that, and he held onto that excuse for dear life. ii. When Richie spoke to him, or when Eddie spoke to Richie. iii. When Richie rode his bike in front of him, hair wild and elbows pointy. Eddie failed at keeping up with the list within the first week, not being able to help himself for the way his eyes always drifted over to Richie, like a magnet, like a moth to flames. He would go home at night and take cold showers, and lay in his bed staring at his ceiling until his eyes hurt and his chest ached with want.

“I know.” He says at last.

“My favorite song of the album was _Pregnant_.” Richie hums, head bopping slightly along to the music. Eddie thinks of the list, and refuses to turn his head to look. Fifteen year of Eddie would either be very proud of him or very annoyed that he was wasting his chance to look while Richie wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie scoffs, “You just liked that you could whistle along to the intro. It’s undeniably _not_ the best song on the album.”

Richie shrugs, wide shoulders pulled up to his ears and then back down, putting his whole body into the movement, “A song doesn’t have to be the objectively best song on an album to be someone's favourite.” He huffs a small laugh, like Eddie’s being ridiculous, “What was your favorite song then?”

“I always liked _Saint John_. I don’t know, you were the one who liked the album so much. It wasn’t my favorite.” Eddie says. What he doesn’t say is that on lonely nights in New York, he’ll put the album on and sit on the window still and stare out onto the street, just to feel the nostalgia. He’ll make it through the first six songs without tearing up, but he always loses it at _Robbers_. _Sulking, walking ‘round the city after dark._ He only gives Richie the answer he does now, because sometimes he can’t bear to hear _Robbers_ , and will turn it off after _Saint John_ to spare himself the heartache.

He almost passes out from relief when Stan, Patty, Bev and Ben finally emerge from the kitchen and walk over to them, giggling slightly. Bev seems to have adopted Patty as her best friend for the evening, and has slung her arm around her shoulder, despite the fact that Patty is about five inches taller than her.

Stan smiles apologetically as he hands Eddie his beer, “I got dragged into doing shots.”

Eddie cracks the beer open and takes three big gulps, trying to calm his nerves, “It’s alright.” He says once he’s swallowed, “I suspected as much. Bev’s good at the whole persuasion thing.”

Bev, who’s gotten down on the floor in front of Eddie with Patty next to her, snickers and crosses her legs, “He’s only salty because I took him to a club in Soho last weekend and made him dance for a full hour.”

“Eddie danced?” Ben asks, leaning against the wall where Eddie had been just a few minutes earlier. He looks very tall from where Eddie’s sitting, wearing tight jeans, a flannel shirt and funky christmas themed socks. Eddie fights against his own smile.

Bev definitely doesn’t look back at him, but goes a bit red, “Oh, he was throwing it down out there. Had to drag him out at last call. A true party animal, that Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie fights the urge to kick her in the face, and takes another long sip of his beer, “I hate you.” He mutters, but that just makes Bev laugh loudly at him.

“So you two are finished with college?” Stan asks. He’s perched on the other armrest, almost in Richie’s lap.

Bev hums, “I just finished my masters in the spring, actually. Eddie got a job right after our undergrad, so he hasn’t been going to school for years. Left me to my own device.”

Ben seems impressed, “Oh! I don’t think I know what you do, these days.” He says to Eddie.

Eddie refuses to make the snarky comment that builds in his throat at that, and he coughs slightly to rid himself of it before responding, “I’m a mechanic. Actually.”

This makes Richie turn sharply to look at him, “Didn’t you go to business school?”

Eddie doesn’t turn to meet his eye, “I did. It sucked. I switched my major half-way into my first semester. So I ended up doing only two years to get my automotive technology degree, rather than like six years of a business degree I didn’t really want in the first place.”

Richie snorts, like he can’t help himself, “Yeah, well. I could have told you as much.”

This makes Eddie snap his gaze to him, feeling furious. Was Richie really doing this? Their first time seeing each other in five years, and he was bringing up their fight in front of all their friends and friends’ family. Richie doesn’t look malicious though, only slightly amused. His cheeks are flushed, from heat or from alcohol, Eddie isn’t sure. He fights the urge to lean over and bite Richie’s red ears.

“Settle down there.” Stan grumbles, patting Richie’s shoulder, “I think that’s great Eddie. I was always a bit confused about you getting a business degree. Didn’t seem like your thing.”

Eddie nods sharply, staring down at Bev, hoping his eyes conveyed the long rant he is trying to telepathically send her with his eyes. She only shrugs. Eddie had only applied to business school in the first place because that was the only thing that had pleased his mother, and there’s no way he’s going to admit that in front of Richie, proving him right about what he had said all those years ago, sitting on his bedroom floor looking worried and tense.

“You were always good at that.” Ben agrees, nodding, “You always fixed up our bikes when we would accidentally rip the chains off, or pop a tire, and when Mike’s truck broke down while we were out in the middle of nowhere on our roadtrip junior year, you fixed it right up so we could get back home.”

“That’s right.” Bev says, sounding very proud, “You built him a new motor from scratch, if I remember correctly. You wouldn’t even really have needed your degree to get your job.”

Eddie frowns, “It’s nice to have a degree, though. If I ever want to start my own garage, or whatever. Plus, it ensured my tenure, which was great.”

Stan nods, as if he’s very pleased at this responsible opinion, “That’s right.” He pointedly looks at Richie.

“I dropped out during my second semester, which I think was inevitable.” Richie shrugs, swirling the ice cubes in his glass around, “Could have told myself that too. I was never a school person, so I have no idea why I even went.”

“We know.” Bev says, “You’re not exactly anonymous. We _do_ watch television, you know.”

“Aw, you've been keeping tabs on me?”

Bev rolls her eyes, but looks entirely playful, “You’re our least favourite SNL cast member. Eddie and I prefer John Mulaney.”

Richie laughs obnoxiously at that, and something pulls painfully at Eddie’s chest, “Understandable. Well, I’m a prime example of the fact that you don’t need a degree to make it and have a good career. My parents didn’t like being proven wrong about that.” He says, and then bumps his elbow into Stan’s, “Not Stan either. He’s always barating me about going back to school, as if I don’t make more money than him already.”

Stan pointedly does not respond to this, just takes a long sip of his red wine, looking exhausted, as if they’ve had this argument a million times already. It’s so achingly familiar, Stan’s exasperated expression, Richie’s knowing smile. There was a summer, back when they were sixteen, when the memory of the clown wasn’t as intense and all consuming anymore, where Richie had decided his new thing was spewing completely random and irrelevant fun facts. Eddie could never figure out which one of his stupid comments were lies and which ones were true, but Stan always could. Richie would say something, and Stan would sigh as all the other Losers laughed or asked questions, and say _that’s just simply not true, Rich_. And it would make Richie burst out laughing every time, and only motivating to try harder to fool him.

“Are you thinking about that?” Patty asks, from the floor, “Opening your own garage?”

Eddie shrugs, “Maybe. Eventually. I’m good for now. I work pretty flexible hours, and have lots of free time, so it’s good. And again, the tenure helps.”

“What do you do in your free time then?” Patty asks, still sounding genuinely interested, as if Eddie’s someone engaging and profound. She’s a very pretty woman. Tan skin, dark curly hair, dark eyes under her cat-eyed glasses. Tonight, she’s wearing a dark red knit sweater and earrings with little white pom-poms at the ends.

Eddie has a panicked moment where he can’t think about anything but the endless meaningless hookups he’s had the past couple of years. Men from dingy dive bars, from dating apps, from blind dates. Men who flirt with him at the park, or in line at the grocery store. Men who fucks him in their cars, or their dingy apartments, or in bathroom stalls at clubs. It’s not like he’s completely out of control, not by any means. Bev had said, very seriously, back when they were in college, that it was nice for Eddie to get out there and explore his sexuality. The summer of 2018 had been one endless blur of alcohol, meaningless sex and meeting Bev in the living room as they both were rummaging through every drawer in search for condoms. They had been living together at that point, while Bev was still in Grad school and struggling with her student debt, so she moved into his apartment for a year while she worked part time at a diner and studied.

“I, uh, read a lot.” He lands on. Bev snorts from the floor as if she’s been thinking the exact thing as him, and this time Eddie reaches out with his foot to push at her shoulder.

Patty doesn’t seem to quite know what to do with that, so she just smiles kindly at him and nods her head.

“What about you?” He asks, just to relieve some of the attention on him. He can feel Richie, Ben and Stan’s eyes on him. “What do you do?”

“I teach art at a local high school.” She smiles, “I finished my bachelor two years ago, and got a job at a high school not too far from Stan’s school right after, so it all worked out. I really like it.”

There’s something in the way she says it. Like she’s saying that she wouldn’t have taken the job if it had dragged her far away from Stan. As if nothing matters if they aren’t close to each other. Something painful pulses in Eddie’s chest, the aching want to be loved like that, unconditionally and openly. Something he hid away in his heart years ago and takes out sometimes on lonely cold nights, turns it over in his hands and examines it with morbid curiosity, too feel it’s sharp edges dig into his fingertips, watch himself bleed. He fights the urge to rub the heel of his hand over his heart, and takes a large gulp of beer.

“That’s good. It’s important to be passionate about what you do.” He says, voice slightly hoarse.

They talk for a while longer, about everyone’s life situations and careers. Ben’s an intern at an architect firm, as part of his masters degree, and Stan already has a position as a ornithology professor at Stanford lined up for when he finishes his PhD next spring, and Eddie’s really proud of them. He really is. Back in high school they had spent hours laying on their backs on the stones by the Quarry talking about their plans for the future. They talk a bit about Richie’s work at SNL, and the two acting jobs he’s had so far, and Eddie tries really hard to pretend he didn’t see his first movie three times in cinema. He and Bev had gone to the opening, partly to have something to laugh about, partly because they both missed Richie so bad it was eating them alive. Later that month Eddie had sneaked out two more times to go see it by himself, because he knew Bev would make fun of him for it. It was a horrible movie, and Richie’s character was an absolute shithead, but Eddie thought he was really talented, and it was the most he had seen of Richie for years, so he let himself indulge in sitting there alone in the dark theatre watching Richie talk and laugh, outshining every other actor on screen with him. Eddie was embarrassed about it for about a year after, but still kept the movie tickets in his copy of E.M. Forster’s _Maurice_ on his bedside table. They’re still there, nestled between the pages of his favorite chapter.

Eventually they all disperse to converse with other people. Sharon has put on some Joni Mitchell, and most of the couple’s are slow dancing to _You Turn Me on I’m a Radio_ in the open space of the living room, looking flushed and in love, and Eddie lets himself look at them for way too long. Maggie and Went look just as in love with each other as they did when Eddie was younger, and it makes him incredibly nostalgic and soft to see the way they look at each other as they sway in place.

“You’re yearning.” Bev says, plopping down in the seat next to him, which was discarded by Richie about half-an-hour ago. He’s now over by the piano chatting idly with Bill, his eyes a bit wild, and he keeps running his fingers through his hair, so it’s sticking up a bit in odd places. Eddie wonders what they’re talking about. His two old best friends.

Eddie growls, “I fucking am not. You’re yearning!”

“Maybe.” She shrugs, “It’s weird being back here. But it isn’t as tense as I thought it would be. Everyone’s being so fucking nice, it’s freaking me out a bit.”

“I know. It’s weird that no one has like, given us the stink eye and demanded to know why we’re such horrible friends.”

She laughs, “I think they might be saving it for when we’re a bit drunker. Weaken our defenses. Wait for us to let our guard down.” She says, sounding slightly excited, as if that’s something she wants to happen. Eddie can never really tell with her. “Ben hugged me in the kitchen.”

He glances over at her, “Alright. That ok with you?”

She looks thoughtful, and a bit red. Her hair looks like pure cold in the light from the fireplace. “Yes. I think I might be in love with him, actually.”

Eddie chokes on his beer, staring at her with wide eyes, “I- What?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I never realized I might have been in love with him as a teenager. Part of me thought maybe I just liked that he loved me, unconditionally. With no limits and no expectations. You know how I am about that whole thing. I can never tell if I like someone or just like being wanted in that way. And then everything with Kay went down after I moved from Derry, and you and Richie fought, and I didn’t see him for five fucking years. I took one look at him when we walked into the room and just felt… I don’t know. Relieved.”

It’s overwhelming how deeply Eddie understands the feeling she’s talking about. Walking into the room, seeing Richie’s surprised expression and handsome face had awakened something in him he didn’t even know was slumbering. The undeniable sense of being _home_. It was like coming home after a long, hard day, hanging up his coat in the hallway and sinking into the couch, warm and safe and familiar. Eddie used to feel that way when he was younger. When Sonia was being extra overbearing about vitamins, and temperatures, and dirt. He would sneak out his bedroom window, grab his bike from the driveway, and ride as fast as he could over to the Tozier’s house the other street over. Richie would open the door, grinning widely and ushering him inside, bursting with excitement, and Eddie would think, _I’m home_. It had nothing to do with the safety and warmth of Maggie and Wentworth’s house, or the fact that they treated Eddie with love and respect. It had nothing to do with getting away from his mother for a few hours, allowing him to be free and honest and himself. It was, undeniably, all to do with Richie.

He nods, “Alright. What are you going to do about it?”

She sighs loudly, “Nothing, probably. There’s no way he still likes me like that.”

Eddie glances over at where Ben’s sitting with his mother and Sharon, talking passionately about something, waving his hands around and looking very excited, “I think he might. You don’t see the way he looks at you.”

Bev looks like she wants to say something, but apparently decides against it, “Maybe I’ll kiss him when I’m shitfaced and can’t remember that consequences are a real thing that affect even me. Then it’ll be a problem for Bev of tomorrow. That poor bitch.”

“You do that.” Eddie snorts, “If things go to hell we can always drive back to New York first thing in the morning and never speak to them again.”

She goes quiet for a while, looking complentative, “I don’t think we can, actually. Now that we’ve seen them again.”

He sighs, “Yeah. I know. I feel slightly unhinged with how relieved I am at the fact that they’re all just, pretending the last five years didn’t happen. Part of me had blocked out how much I missed them, and now I feel like I’ll never let them out of my life again.”

She hums, “Are you alright though? You looked like you were going to bite Richie’s head off earlier.”

“Is that new?” Eddie laughs tensely, “He always made me so fucking angry when we were younger.”

“Yeah, but it was never in a serious way. You liked the way he riled you up. You would keep giving him material to work with, and then he would push you too far, and you would yell, and then you would both suddenly crack up as if the whole thing was one big joke plotline. I never understood it.”

Eddie shrugs, staring down at his feet to avoid her knowing eyes, “I don’t know. I can’t read him anymore, so I don’t know if I should be seriously angry or not for the jokes he’s making. Part of me is still so angry about the fight.”

“I know.” She says, patting his knee. It doesn’t feel pitying, so he lets her.

In the background _Blue Motel Room_ comes on, and Eddie’s head immediately snaps in the direction of the piano, where Richie is looking back at him with the expression of a deer caught in the headlights.

_I’ve got a blue motel room, with a blue bedspread. I’ve got the blues inside and outside my head. Will you still love me, when I get back to to town_

The summer before they all went off to college, Richie had become annoyingly fixated on Joni Mitchell. He always took music recommendations from Maggie, who had an extensive vinyl collection and always had music playing in the house. He would play Joni all the time, down in the clubhouse, when they were sunbathing by the Quarry, or when he and Eddie were in his room late at night reading or watching movies. One night, a few weeks before their fight, they had been napping in Richie’s bed after a long day out in the blasting sun. When they woke back up, warm and disoriented, their legs were tangled and they had their arms around each other. Richie had blushed and pulled away from Eddie so quickly, he almost rolled out of the tiny bed. He had grabbed for his phone on the floor and plugged in the aux cord so he could play some music, probably mostly to avoid having to look Eddie in the eye. _Blue Motel Room_ had come on after a few songs. Richie and Eddie had been laying on their backs with their hands at their sides, staring up at the stick-on stars on Richie’s ceiling. Eddie’s pinkie had bushed slightly against Richie’s, and he had held his breath, Joni cooning _I hope you’ll be thinking of me, because I’ll be thinking of you._ Eddie, feeling brave for the first time since the summer he kicked a killer clown in the face, had pushed his pinky under Richie’s and wrapped them around each other, heart going crazy in his chest. They had layed like that, breathing in tune, music filling the silence, until Eddie had to go home to make his curfew. Eddie thinks, if given the chance, he would have stayed in that bed with Richie for the rest of time. In another universe they might still be there, on the blue bedsheets, under the glow in the dark stars.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.” He mutters, ripping his eyes away from Richie to look back at Bev, feeling desperate, “I need a shot right now or I will scream.”

Bev looks just as panicked, “Oh, I am with you. I think I might need two, actually. Why the fuck did someone queue this song?”

“The universe hates us.” Eddie grits out, getting up from his seat and offering Bev his hand to help her up, “My motel room is actually blue. This is fucked.”

That makes her laugh, “Mine is pink. Even the shower curtain. I think the receptionist might be a bit misogynistic.”

They pass Bill and Mike on their way to the kitchen and ask if they want to join, which Stan, Patty and Richie overhears, getting up and following them. Ben shuffles into the kitchen shortly after. Eddie wants to eat his shot glass whole. He pours himself and Mike a generous amount of vodka, his hands shaking slightly. Richie, Bev and Patty pour themselves tequila, while Stan, Ben and Bill go for the bacardi.

“Right.” Richie says, a bit too loudly, “Cheers, Losers.”

Eddie’s stomach burns. Richie looks flushed and handsome, and when he knocks back the shot, his neck looks long and strong, and Eddie almost chokes on his shot.

Ben grimaces as he puts his shot glass down, “Jesus.” He coughs, “I think my mom might be drunk. She keeps getting teary eyed and talking about how lovely it is that we’re all together again.”

Stan snorts, sliding his arm around Patty’s waist and pulling her closer to him. She’s slightly taller than him, half an inch at least, and she beams at him. They look good together. “My mom too.”

“Well, it _is_ nice.” Bill agrees, “I was starting to worry it wasn’t going to happen ever again. Like we wouldn’t see each other until our ten year high school reunion.”

Eddie blinks at his brutal honesty, and can’t think of a single reply that doesn’t sound a bit too pathetic, a bit too blunt, so he pours himself another shot and throws it back quickly. The vodka burns all the way down his throat.

No one says anything for a few moments, and the Bev sighs, “I’m sorry about that. I kept putting off calling, and the longer I waited the more worried I got that it was going to be horrible and uncomfortable, but it really isn’t, and now I feel like a bitch for not coming back sooner.”

Mike smiles kindly, “We get it. There’s nothing we can do about it now. I’m just glad you came around. It’s wonderful that you showed up this time.”

“I think I wasted a lot of time being stubborn.” Eddie says before his brain catches up with his mouth, and feels himself pale slightly. It’s true though. He hadn’t meant to push the other Losers away. It was just hard for him, the few first months after moving to New York, to get out of his own head about the whole situation. And before he knew it, six months had gone by, and at that point he was convinced no one was expecting him to reach out, or didn’t want him to. So he just hadn’t, even when Bill sent him a happy birthday text, or when Ben liked every one of Eddie’s instagram pictures, or when Mike sent quaint little postcards from his travels. When he looks up, Richie’s looking at him, a pensive look on his face. His eyes look very dark behind his glasses, his hair is still a mess from running his hands through it too many times. Eddie wants to scream.

“We could have reached out more.” Bill shrugs, “We were convinced that you two didn’t want anything to do with us anymore, so we didn’t want to push it. But there’s a reason I still invited you to this every year.”

“We thought it may just be because you felt obligated to.” Bev shrugs.

“It was more of an olive branch situation.” Mike smiles.

Eddie frowns, “That’s saying doesn’t even make sense. The olive branch wasn’t a peace offering, in the myth. I have no idea why it’s been twisted to be a metaphor for that.” He blurts out before he can even think about it.

Bill raises an eyebrow at him, looking partly amused and partly confused, “What?”

Eddie considers taking another shot, but his stomach is already burning with nerves and vodka, “In the myth, Athena and Poseidon are fighting over who gets to be the patron god of the city that eventually became Athens. It was a _competition_. Athena made the olive tree, while Poseidon made some sort of saltwater fountain. The people of Athens preferred the olive tree, which made Poseidon angry. They were enemies, in myth, up until they both sided with the Greeks during the Trojan war. It was never about compromise.”

The rest of them just stare at him for a while.

“How the fuck do you know that?” Richie laughs at last, high pitched and loud. It’s such a familiar sound Eddie wants to throw himself out the kitchen window and escape into the night over the way it makes his heart beat painfully in his chest.

“As I said, I read a lot.” He shrugs.

“You read a lot of Greek myths?” Stan asks, sounding very amused.

Eddie blushes, “Yeah, a bit. I took a classic lit course during my second year, and enjoyed _the Iliad_ more than I was expecting.”

Mike nods, “It’s a good read.”

“I could never get through it.” Richie shrugs, “Too many unnecessary details and names to remember. Too little dialog, and no character descriptions that didn’t include _and he was the son of the son of_. I liked Achilles though.”

Of course Richie’s favourite greek hero would be Achilles, flashy and hot-headed. He tries not to think about the whole homosexual subtext of Achilles’ story. Two childhood best friends falling in love and staying together, faithful companions, until their deaths. Asking for their ashes to be mixed together, so that they wouldn’t be separated, together even in the Underworld.

“I always preferred Oddeyseus.” Patty says, “I like the idea that what makes a hero honourable and great isn’t necessarily superhuman strength or godly powers. Just being brave and being witty.”

“Me too.” Eddie admits, “I like the concept of being able to talk yourself out of conflict and danger.”

The Losers all look at each other, all of them remembering that at the end of the day, what had killed the clown wasn’t them trying to fight back, but the Losers being fearless and brave. Telling the clown _we’re not scared of you, we love each other and we are brave, and we won’t let you break us down_.

“We were always good at that.” Richie says, sounding wistful. Eddie stares at him for a bit too long. Fifteen year old Eddie shakes the list at him, but Eddie ignores him to stare at the line of Richie’s jaw, the clean cut of his sideburns, the plumpness of his lips.

“You know what,” Bev says, grabbing his shot glass from the kitchen island, “Let's have another drink. As a cheers to the dead clown.”

Patty looks a bit taken aback, “Am I allowed to drink too?”

Eddie considers that. It seems Stan has told her everything about what they went through that summer, and while it doesn’t really shock him that Stan is completely honest with his wife, it is a bit strange to realise other people than the seven of them knows about It, about the sewers and about their trauma.

“Of course you can, Pats.” Bev grins, “You’re like, our Loser in law? Loser by association. Married into the Losers club. You don’t need our blood flowing through your veins to be one of us.”

Bill cocks his head to the side, “You think we still have each other’s blood in our systems? Does blood even replace itself? And if it does ruh-regenerate or something, where would it go unless you like lost most of your b-blood?”

“No idea.” Bev shrugs, “It just sounds very poetic.”

“Alright.” Richie shrugs and pours himself another shot, “Cheers to us, for being as smart as Oddyseus, and as brave as Achilles. Cheers to Patty for not running for the hills when Stan told her about our childhood trauma, and sticking around for the weirdness. And to Bonzo the homophobic alien entity for staying dead and rotting down in the sewers. _Eater of worlds_ my ass.”

The old scar in his palm tingles a bit as they all clink their glasses together and drink. He sort of wants to cry, but that would be a bit embarrassing, so he grabs for Bev’s hand next to him. She squeezes his hand immediately, as if she understands. Eddie doesn't miss the way Richie’s eyes linger on their intertwined fingers with a strange look on his face. He looks away as soon as he catches Eddie’s eye.

They leave the kitchen feeling slightly lighter. It’s not they really talked about things, in the way they probably should, but at least they’ve cleared the air a bit. It’s a relief to know that most of them aren’t holding grudges against Eddie and Bev. Maybe they can all be friends again, at least friendly towards each other. Eddie ends up in a heated discussion with Bill, Mike and Zack Denbrough over literature classics. People are starting to get drunker around them, until Ben’s mom, and Stan’s parents decide to leave right before midnight. Ben goes to follow his mother home, but promises to be right back once she’s safe in bed.

After a riveting conversation with Stan about ornithology - that makes him feel like he’s twelve and he’s spending the afternoon out in the forest with Stan, looking for rare birds, Eddie excuses himself to go pee, and to catch a breath before he passes out. He walks up the stairs to the second floor quietly, trying to avoid anyone’s eye. He’s a bit winded by the time he reaches the landing, which is a very telling sign that he’s getting pretty tipsy, and he makes his way down the hallway towards the bathroom. The door is locked when he grabs for the handle, so he leans against the wall to wait his turn. There’s a tension in his shoulders he can’t shake, and his heart is beating quickly in his chest. If he was still wearing his pulse watch, it would have been beeping loudly. Eddie braces himself against the wall with one hand and thinks _I’m not having an asthma attack, I am not having a panic attack, I can breathe and I will be ok._ Realistically, he understands that he’s just a bit overwhelmed with all the socializing and all the unexpected kindness and all the people asking him if he’s ok.

Half-an-hour ago, Maggie Tozier had come up to him with a very affectionate smile on her face and pulled him aside.

“I didn’t come over earlier because you looked a bit overwhelmed by all the attention.” She says, still holding onto his hand. Her fingers are warm and calloused, and it brings back memories of being young and naive, not understanding of what a mother’s love is supposed to look and feel like, when Maggie pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head and asked if he wanted to stay over for dinner. _You don’t have to go home right now, Eddie. You’re always welcome at our table._

“Uh, yeah, I was. A little bit.” Eddie admits, throat feeling very dry.

“It’s so good to finally see you again,” She smiles, eyes glossy, and Eddie thinks that if she cries, he will break down. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

“Oh.” Eddie sighs, feeling himself tear up a bit, “I- I’ve missed you too.”

She grins widely, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and in that moment she looks so painfully like Richie, Eddie’s heart hurts a bit, “I’m sorry about everything that went down a few years ago. I don’t know what made you and Richie go your separate ways, but I want you to know Went and I still love and care for you deeply.”

Eddie blinks back tears, and stutters out a wet, “Thank you.”

Back upstairs, Eddie’s breathing calms down and his heartbeat calms down a bit, and he finds he’s not as lightheaded anymore. Downstairs, Duke Ellington is singing _in a sentimental mood, I can see the stars come through my room, while your loving attitude is like a flame that lights the gloom._ Eddie moves his head side to side along to the music, closing his eyes as he lets himself calm down. He startles a bit when the bathroom door opens, and Richie steps out. They both just stare at each other for a few beats, Richie gripping the doorframe and Eddie leaning against the wall. The hallway is narrow, so either Richie will have to step back and let Eddie into the bathroom before he can go out, or they will have to squeeze past each other. Both options make Eddie want to melt through the floorboards.

“Uh.” Richie says, a bit red in the face, “I’ll just.” He points down the hall, and steps out of the bathroom. His elbows brush against Eddie’s solar plexus, and Eddie presses himself against the wall, overstimulated by the touch. Richie’s body radiates heat as he slips past Eddie. When Richie’s made it over to the staircase, he turns slightly to glance at Eddie, who stays pressed against the wall. Richie smiles at him, shy and barely a twitch of the corner of his lips, but it makes Eddie burn from the inside out.

When Eddie comes down from the bathroom, after sitting on the cold tiles for a few minutes with his head between his knees to calm down, Maggie and Wentworth are out in the hallways putting their coats on to leave. Eddie goes over to say his goodbyes to them, and then ends up in the loveseat with Patty, who tells him about her students, and her favourite artists, and her and Stan’s honeymoon. She’s apparently just as into birds as Stan, and they had gone to some sort of resort in Panama famous for birdwatchers.

She looks at him with very piercing eyes once she’s done talking about her favourite bird, which is a strawberry finch, and presses her mouth into a serious line, “Are you happy, Eddie?”

He’s a bit taken aback at that. Isn’t used to people asking, at least not people he’s met just a few hours earlier, “Uh. I suppose?”

“That’s not a very reassuring answer.” She says, and she places a warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly, “I don’t mean to intrude. You can tell me to back off. But I’ve heard lots about you from the other’s over the past five years, and I suppose I’m a bit worried.”

Eddie considers that. That Stan, Richie, Ben, Bill and Mike have talked about him, while he’s been wallowing in New York thinking they all hate him. “You’re worried? I don’t mean to be rude, Patty, but you don’t know me.”

“I feel like I do though.” She shrugs, lips pursed, “Stan doesn’t really open up to people, and when he first loves someone, he doesn’t easily let them go. You’re one of the few people in this world he carries in his heart. That makes you important to me.”

Eddie feels a bit choked up at that, and glances over at Stan in the corner of the room, who’s looking back at them with a bit of an intrigued look on his face. He raises his wineglass in salute when he catches Eddie looking back at him, but doesn’t come over to join their conversation. Eddie’s glad.

“Right.” He coughs once he looks back at Patty, “That… Alright. You’re just trying to make me cry now.”

Patty laughs sweetly, “I’m sorry, I’m really not. I just want you to know that you have people who care about you. And that you deserve to be happy.”

Eddie frowns, “I’ve felt like shit for five years over the way I treated everyone after I moved. It’s just a bit hard to believe they haven’t held grudges for that.”

Patty cocks her head to the side, looking a bit sad, “Most of them didn’t. They were just confused as to what they could do about the situation.”

Eddie tries really hard not to think about the way she said _most of them_. He’s pretty sure she means to say that Richie held a grudge, and that pisses him off a bit.

He hums, “Yeah, I didn’t either, and then I just gave up on trying to figure it out. I was angry for a very long time about how it felt like they were picking sides. I suppose I’m still angry.”

“You should talk to them about it. Stan has tried to pick up the phone for years to call you, but chickens out every time. He feels really bad about how he handled things.”

“Why?”

“As I said, you’re one of the people he loves most in this world. He just might love Richie a little bit more. That doesn’t take away from the fact that he was heartbroken over losing you.”

Eddie’s eyes are very dry, and he feels slightly heartbroken too, “I’m sorry I didn’t come to your wedding. I feel horrible about it. The invite has been pinned to my fridge for two years. It meant a lot to me that I was even invited in the first place, but I was too much of a coward to show up.”

Patty smiles kindly, “Don’t worry about it. We’re thinking of renewing our vows for our five year wedding anniversary, something more private with just our friends, since our wedding was mostly family. We would really love for you to come to that one.”

“Oh, I will.” Eddie grabs her hand, trying his best to look sincere. At this moment, nothing in the world matters more to him than that invite.

Patty pats his hand on top of hers softly, “Alright. I’m gonna go make out with my husband for a bit. _You_ should talk to _Richie_.” And then she just gets up and leaves before Eddie can argue that he absolutely does not want to talk to Richie.

He turns to look around the room, trying to locate Bev. She seems to be having a very personal conversation with Ben over in the corner of the couch, her feet pulled up under her body and her hands clasped together tightly. It’s a sign of her feeling unsure of herself. Eddie doesn’t want to intrude, but stays slightly twisted in his seat so he can keep an eye on them, just in case he has to step in. He barely notices Richie crossing the room towards him until he’s right in front of him. Eddie glances up, Richie looming over him slightly. God, his shoulders are _so wide_. He remembers vividly the summer Richie had filled out like that, shoulders becoming wide and jaw becoming sharp and angled. It felt like it happened overnight. That was also the summer of Eddie’s sexual awakening, and he embarrassingly remembers that Richie’s big hands and wide shoulders were the main focus of most of his sexual fantasies as a teenager.

“You want to have a cigarette? Bill told me you smoke now.”

Eddie’s brain takes a few seconds to register the question, as he’s busy staring at Richie’s wide and plump chest. God, he is _drunk_. “Uh. Sure?”

Richie smiles slightly and turns to head out into the hallway, and Eddie stumbles slightly trying to get out of his seat too quickly to follow him. Out in the hallway, Patty has Stan pressed against the wall, and Eddie tries his best not to stare. Richie just grins at them, wiggling his eyebrows slightly when he catches Eddie’s eye, “They’re always like this. I once walked in on them in my own bedroom. Had to get my friend Sandy to come over and cleanse the energy in the room with fucking sage and lavender. She gave me an amethyst too, which is supposed to be good for anxiety and sleep. Lord knows I needed it after that.”

Stan breaks apart from Patty slightly to flip him off, “Don’t get me started on the shit I’ve seen, asshole.”

Eddie grabs his jacket from the hanger and pushes past Richie to get out the door, feeling like he’s intruding, even though Stan and Patty are right out in the open, for God and everyone to witness. Richie’s laughing as he follows Eddie, closing the door behind them. The midnight air stings his face, and the snow is still falling heavily. Eddie’s very glad he didn’t bring his car, because he would have had to shovel his way out of the driveway.

“I hope you didn’t drive here.” He says to Richie as he fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.

“I didn’t. I’m staying at Mike’s.” He says, and it sounds like there’s some intention in there somewhere, and Eddie has a slightly insane moment where he thinks Richie and Mike might be a thing. Then he realises it’s probably just because Richie doesn’t really need to book himself a motel room when Mike has plenty of empty rooms in his childhood home, since his grandparents and uncle sleep at the farmhouse. If Bev and Eddie had let the other’s know they were coming, Mike would probably have offered them to stay there too. “I can’t believe you smoke now. You gave me so much shit for it in high school.”

Eddie - knowing the reason he had heckled Richie so much about him smoking was because Eddie would go slightly insane at the image of Richie leaning his head back to exhale the smoke, looking heavy-lidded and beautiful, and Eddie didn’t want to deal with the way his stomach would burn as he looked at him - snorts and says, “You only started smoking because you thought Bev was the coolest person ever and wanted to be just like her. At least start smoking for a valid reason.”

That makes Richie let out a bark of a laugh, and Eddie hates himself for how much it pleases him to make Richie laugh. Fifteen year old Eddie chants at him from inside his head, _look at him, look at him, look at him. He’s laughing, you’re allowed to look when he’s laughing._ “Not denying that. So what was your valid reasoning to start smoking?”

Eddie’s still trying to locate his lighter in one of the many pockets of his coat. Richie leans over with his own lighter to light Eddie’s cigarette, and it’s a very intensely intimate moment, where Richie leans into Eddie’s space and his fingers are a bit too close to Eddie’s mouth for his stomach not to churn warmly. Up close, Richie’s eyelashes are dark and long against his cheekbones, and Eddie can spot a few very faded freckles scattered over the thin skin under his eyes. It’s unbearable. He’s almost relieved when they both lean back.

He takes a long drag before responding, “I found out it helps my anxiety. Then got addicted.” He shrugs, “Nothing more exciting, sorry.”

Richie wrinkles his nose, “I can’t even make fun of that.”

“You don’t have to make fun of everything.”

“I think you and I both know that’s not true.” Richie huffs, and then stares down at his shoes, looking a bit uncomfortable.

Eddie sighs, “Alright. Are we going to do this then? It’s as good of a time as any, seeing as it’s just the two of us out here.”

Richie glances back up at him, eyes wide, “Do what?” He sounds scared, and Eddie debates backing off for a second, but then grits his teeth together to keep the momentum of his anger contained in his mouth.

“Talk about it.” He says, sounding snappy even to his own ears, “If not for our own sake, then at least. You know. For the others.”

“Do we have to?” Richie asks, his tone very even in the way it always got when his anger turned sharply from humour to spite; cold and calculated, hitting below the belt with every word, “Can’t we just internalise it for a few more years until we blow up at each other like normal, well functioning adults?”

Richie was always really good at that. Letting his anger fester for too long, never speaking up when he got upset and letting people walk over him until it bubbled over and spilled out of him, intense and sharp. Eddie was always good at recognizing the signs of Richie’s internal anger, as he was pushing his buttons and giving back as hard as he could against Richie’s jokes and annoying remarks. The way Richie’s shoulders would tense, his eyes would go a very dark colour, like burnt coffee, his mouth tight and his every step and movement weird, like something practised and intentional, rather than natural and organic. Sometimes Eddie would deflect it, with a soft hand on Richie’s shoulder or a well-placed joke. But sometimes, when Eddie’s own anger was all consuming and sudden, he would rile up Richie even more, just to watch him explode.

“Fuck you.” Eddie snaps, part of him feeling thirteen and intrigued by Richie’s uncharacteristic anger, “First of all, there’s no way either of us are well functioning adults, and second, I’ve internalised this shit for long enough.”

Richie raises a brow at him, mouth in a hard line. He looks like he did when he was fifteen and Vic Cross had called homophobic slurs after him on the way back from school, and Richie had turned around, Bill and Eddie at his back, and told him his delivery was lacking creativity; that if he expected Richie to care about what he was saying he was really going to have to try harder. Eddie could tell then, just like he can tell now, that Richie’s scared - like a cooped up animal, restless with anger and sadness. Defensive, snappy, lonely.

“So what you’re telling me is that this is you blowing up about it?” Richie says, a slight tilt to his head. Eddie’s a bit surprised to find that he can still read him like the back of his own hand. There’s something sharply painful in his chest.

“Fuck me for trying!” Eddie groans, taking a long angry inhale of smoke, coughing slightly as he says, “I just think we owe it to the others to fucking try to get along. You know, get in the fucking holiday spirit.”

Richie kicks his foot against the railing of the porch, looking very uncomfortable and tense, “Suppose so.” He sighs, and then, “I can get along with you just fine. I don’t need a fucking heart to heart. I’m civil and over it.”

Eddie scowls, “You’re _over_ it?”

It feels like a punch to the gut. Richie has the audacity to just shrug, mouth in a hard line. Eddie feels like dropping his cigarette into the snow, storming into the house and dragging Bev back to New York where he can hide among the skyscrapers and old brick buildings.

“Jesus Christ, you’re like a child. I’m just trying to clear the fucking air!” Eddie hisses, “I don’t want to spend the evening feeling tense and nervous that you’re going to fucking bring this shit up at any moment. I haven’t seen the others in years, and I just want to have a normal fucking night with them.”

“Fuck off, Eddie. It’s your own damn fault you haven’t seen us- Them. You’re the one who has been acting like a child! You can be as pissed at me as you want, but there was no reason for you to turn your back on the others the way you did. And you’re the one who fucking brought it up. I was planning on ignoring it all night so we could at least pretend to be over it.”

Eddie hates how hard that hits home, but he refuses to back down when he’s already started, “Oh, now you’re pretending? You just said you were over it!”

Richie looks up at him, eyes very sharp, “Yeah. I was upset for like two years and then kinda stopped caring. You didn’t want to talk to me and I was sick of trying, so I backed off and moved on with my life. I don’t know how much of that was just me pretending I wasn’t fucking hurt and angry.”

Eddie gapes at him, his heart very painful, “Fuck you. What did you have to be upset about?”

Richie shakes his head, like a nervous tic, “What?” He laughs, but it sounds incredulous, “I was fucking upset because I lost my best friend over something so fucking stupid.”

“Stupid… Right.”

“Come _on_ Eddie. Of course I was fucking upset! It wasn’t- I was trying to- You just walked out on me and then never spoke to me again! All because I told you how I felt.”

Eddie feels himself grimace angrily, baring his teeth, “Are you fucking kidding me? You made me feel incompetend and stupid! I was mortified, and you never fucking apologized for it.”

Richie looks like one single breeze could knock him over, so he sits down hard in one of the porch chairs, and stares at his shoes for way too long, while Eddie takes a deep drag and sort of wants to faceplant into the snow and scream.

“What the hell did I have to apologize for? Being honest?”

Eddie feels insane, and so angry he might start crying from it, “Are you fucking dense? Don’t answer that, actually.” He yells, “You were a complete ass!”

“How?” Richie yelps, “I asked you to come with me to LA? I told you I wanted us to be together. I understand you might not have wanted to, but there was absolutely no reason for you to get so fucking angry at me for it.”

Eddie stumps out his cigarette and shoved his hands into his pockets so he doesn’t fucking rip his own hair out in frustration, “Are you purposly being antagonizing? What the fuck? You told me I wouldn’t survive on my own and that I was weak and codependent.”

Richie looks momentarily dumbfounded at that, before rubbing the heels of his hands over his face, groaning, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Eddie, whose legs are shaking from anger, sits down in the other chair, and is very glad there’s a glass table between them, “What the fuck are _you_ talking about?”

“I confessed my feelings for you and you got angry and ran away, and then never talked to me again. You fucking broke my heart. What the fuck do you think I’m talking about?”

Eddie’s life flashes before his eyes. The words _feelings_ echoes in his brain. He thinks back to the fight, about the way Richie had looked small and scared, curled in on himself on his bedroom floor, and said _you and I are good together,_ and _I just want you to be there with me._ Something painful contracts in his chest, and he feels like he can’t fucking breathe. What the fuck is Richie talking about? Feelings?

“I- What?” He stutters, staring at Richie with wide eyes. He has gone very red and very still, and Eddie knows exactly what that means. He can’t handle this.

“What do you mean what?” Richie squeeks, “I told you I wanted us to be together, didn’t I?”

“You… I thought. Oh my god.” Eddie’s brain is shortcutting, not forming any complete sentences or thoughts beyond _oh my god oh my god oh my god._

He remembers the summer of two years ago, when Richie had come out on twitter, and Eddie had locked himself in the bathroom, having the worst panic attack of his entire life, feeling absolutely fucking insane with all the feelings inside him. He had spent his entire childhood, from age six through eighteen, thinking he had no chance with Richie because Richie was _straight_ , and the realisation that the reality was that Eddie never had a chance simply because Richie didn’t love him back was so overwhelmingly heartbreaking it took him days to stop feeling absolutely wrecked over it. He then spent the rest of the month in a manic haze, fighting with everyone leaving even a slightly negative comment under Richie’s tweets, feeling unhinged. He had been blocked by up to a hundred Trump supporters and trolls, and almost got his account suspended. Bev had tried to pry him away from his laptop, telling him to let it go, that it wasn’t his battle to fight, voice very soft and very sweet, like she was genuinely worried about him.

“You thought what?” Richie asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie blinks hard, “You… We- Oh my god. What did _you_ think the fight was about?”

Richie frowns, “I… I was trying to tell you I was in love with you. That I didn’t want to move to another city without you. I was so scared of being apart from you, and I thought _hey, if you tell him that, maybe, just maybe, he’ll come with you, or let you come with him - even if he doesn’t feel the same_. What… Is that not what you were so angry about?”

“No, it- _What_?” Eddie feels slightly hysterical, “You were… Love? Oh my god?”

“Was that not obvious?” Richie giggles, sounding raw, “What the fuck? I felt so fucking transperant and overt. I thought my feelings for you were written out in bold letters across my forehead - that everyone could see it clear as day. I felt like everything I did in your prescence was so fucking unmistakibly about me being in love with you.”

“No it fucking wasn’t obvious. Not to me! Are you fucking pulling my leg here?”

Richie frowns, “No? Why the fuck would I joke about this? I know I didn’t exactly spell it out for you, but you ran out on me before I had the chance to say the actual words. I thought you were so repulsed by… _You know_. Me being gay and in love with you that you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Eddie goes through the five stages of grief at that. Denial; Richie couldn’t have been in love with him back then. Why would someone as brilliant and bright as Richie be in love with someone as neurotic and crude as Eddie? There was no way Richie was walking around all that time feeling the same way for Eddie as he felt for Richie. Anger; Was Richie really standing here telling him that the only thing that kept them apart for five fucking years was Eddie’s own stubborness? A fucking misunderstanding? Why hadn’t Richie followed him, when he left his house in an angry daze? Why hadn’t he pulled him aside at the airport and said _I love you please don’t go_? Why hadn’t Eddie picked up the phone at least once? Why hadn’t one of the other Losers fucking said something? Bargaining; Maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Yes, Eddie could have tried to hear him out, and Richie could have tried harder to reach him and try to explain, and the Losers could have told them both that they were being unreasonable. Depression; If he had been a little kinder and Richie a little braver, they would probably have been together for years by this point. Eddie’s life wouldn’t be overshadowed by such a hollow sadness at being without Richie. At losing him. He wouldn’t have had to have meaningless sex with strangers he didn’t even like, trying to fill the Richie shaped hole in his heart. He wouldn’t have felt unlovable and broken. It’s all so fucking unfair he almost chokes on it. Acceptance; Alright, he thinks, a bit dizzy. Alright.

“You. You were in love with me...”

Richie glances at him, eyes glossy and face very red, “Oh yeah.”

“Since when?”

“Uh. My entire childhood, basically. I suppose I knew for sure that summer. When we were thirteen. In Neibolt house after you broke your arm, and Bill and I found you downstairs with the clown.”

“Why then?”

Eddie had been so overwhelmed with pain and fear that he couldn’t even remember the details of what had happened in the time between him falling through the hole in the floor and the Losers carrying him out of the house. He remembers excruciating pain, screaming his throat raw, Richie’s panicked face, the werewolf unhinging his jaw, Beverly fierce and brave with a fencepost.

Richie sighs, closing his eyes, looking exhausted, “I thought you were gonna die. And I wanted to- I was ready to die with you, or for you. Whatever happened. I didn’t want to live without you.” He shrugs, as if it’s a given. A fact. The earth orbits the sun; bats are nocturnal animals; there is no finite sequence of digits that exactly expresses the square root of pi; Richie Tozier couldn’t live without Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Oh.” Eddie sighs, and feels something in his chest coming undone, unravelling, “Jesus Christ.”

“But I think I was a goner long before that. I think I loved you ever since second grade when you flipped your shit at Bowers the first time he called me the f-slur.”

“I can’t fucking believe this.” He mutters. His voice is hoarse.

Richie scoffs, looking slightly annoyed, “You don’t believe that I was in love with you?”

He keeps saying _was_ , and something stings in the pit of Eddie’s stomach. He had really lost his chance by being rash and hot headed. It hurts to think about. Maybe he is like Achilles after all. He sends a silent thought out, a general _sorry for misjudging you_.

“No, I- I can’t believe I thought you were calling me weak. I thought you were trying to like, protect me against myself or I don’t know… Coddle me. Your choice of words were real fucking unfortunate, Richie.”

Richie grimaces, and looks stricken, and a bit angry, “Dude, I would never… You know I would never do that. I never treated you like you were weak. What the fuck are you on about?”

Eddie sighs, “I didn’t think so either, which is why I was so fucking pissed at you. Jesus Christ, Richie. I don’t fucking believe this. You were _in love_ with me?”

Richie laughs, and it sounds very self-deprecating, and Eddie wants to lean across the table to grab his face and kiss all his insecurities right out of his bones, “Yeah. Sorry.”

Eddie growls, “Don’t be fucking sorry. I feel so stupid.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know. Fuck.” Richie groans, rubbing the heels of his hands hard into his eye sockets, and then stands up abruptly, “Come with me.”

Eddie gets up without thinking about it, and follows Richie down the steps to the driveway. They walk in silence for a long while, Eddie wondering where the hell they’re going, and wanting desperately to ask Richie when he had fallen out of love with him. Was it the moment Eddie stormed out the door, not even willing to hear him out? Or when he got onto the plane to New York without hugging Richie goodbye? Or when he ignored his calls for months? Or had he been in love and heartbroken for years afterwards, until he finally moved on with another man who didn’t treat him like he wasn’t good enough to be loved back? Eddie wants to set himself on fire. His heart is very painful and very tight in his chest, and he’s having trouble keeping his breathing normal. This is the worst possible outcome of this situation. Screaming and arguing he could deal with, a tense insincere apology he could bear, them being angry but civil for the next couple of years just to keep the Losers together he could handle. The realisation that Richie had been in love with him for over ten years, and Eddie had no idea about it and ended up ruining their chances at being together is absolutely unbearable.

He finally breaks, “Where the fuck are we going? Bev’s going to send out a rescue team when she realises I’m not just outside on the porch smoking. She might think you’ve murdered me.”

Richie glances over him and snorts, the tip of his nose is red from the cold. Eddie bites his tongue hard against the fondness that rises in his throat and threatens to spill out of his mouth. He’s never wanted to kiss somebody as much as he wants to kiss Richie in his entire life. Pull him flush against Eddie’s body by the lapells of his stupid jacket, and slot his thighs between Richie’s. He wants to push him onto the snowy ground, like he did when they were children, and straddle him. He thinks about lonely nights in his Greenwich studio apartment, lying awake for hours feeling an ache deep in his bones. Longing for Richie, his whole body ravenous with wanting that he can never sustain, no matter how hard he tries. He wants, and wants, and wants. But he can’t have.

“I want to show you something.” Richie just says, smiling slyly, “I was going to- I was planning on showing you this before you left. That was what I was gearing up to that night. Maybe if I had brought you there before opening my stupid mouth, you would have understood what I was trying to say.”

“I’m going to shove my foot down my throat.” Eddie mumbles.

“While that sounds very sexy,” Richie laughs, “I think that’s a choking hazard, and I can’t have you dying before I show you this.”

Suddenly, Richie stops, as they’re walking onto the kissing bridge. He looks nervous, hands shoved into his pockets and chin tucked in towards his chest. Eddie’s confused as to why they have stopped, brain going fucking haywire in his head at standing next to Richie on the kissing bridge.

“What now?” Eddie asks when Richie doesn’t move or say anything for a while.

Richie waves slightly with his hand at the railing to his left, “I- Go see for yourself.”

Eddie sends him a confused grimace, but walks around him to squat down by the railing, eyes trailing over the different names and symbols. He sees a little heart carving, with the name Amber inside of it, which he suspects is for Amber McDonalds, the most popular girl at their high school. He looks for a bit longer, and then feels his heart drop into the bottom of his stomach and his breath hitch painfully. There, to the right of the heart carving, is the proof of Richie’s love for him back when they were teenagers. It looks old, and a bit hurried, as if Richie hadn’t wanted to spend too much time on it in fear of being discovered there. It’s simple, and anonymous, but Eddie knows it’s what Richie wanted him to see immediately.

“Oh god fucking dammit.” Eddie groans, straightening back up as he glances at Richie over his shoulder, “When did you do this?”

Richie shrugs, “That summer.” He doesn’t elaborate, but Eddie instantly knows what summer he’s referring to.

“After Neibolt?”

“Yeah. I hadn’t seen you in over a week because your mom locked you in the house and I was too angry at Bill to hang out with the rest of the Losers and… I had a bit of a... Bad day. I just felt like I owed it to myself to be honest about the way I felt about you at least once. Huh, if thirteen year old Richie could see me now.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, but looks sad and wistful. A tell-tale sign of how honest he’s being.

Eddie turns fully around, feeling slightly unhinged, “Fucking hell. Do the other Losers think the fight was about the same thing as you did?”

Richie frowns, and looks a bit apologetic when he mumbles, “Yeah. Well, I never told them all the details. But yeah, pretty much.”

“Why the fuck are any of you even talking to me tonight? Why are you being friendly? You spent five fucking years thinking I was some homophobic asshole? What the fuck!”

Richie smiles a bit, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards just slightly, “We didn’t think Beverly would hang out with you if you were a homophobe. We just thought you were freaked out about my feelings, and didn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

“This fucking sucks.” Eddie says, running his hands frantically through his hair. He forgot his knitted hat when they walked outside to smoke. His ears are burning up nonetheless.

“What? Finally realising I was in love with you?” Richie asks, voice low.

“No. Fucking… You _were_ in love with me. And I just- Fuck!”

“You gotta use your words Eddie, I hate no idea what you mean by that.”

“I was in love with you!” Eddie shouts slightly, cutting his hand sharply through the air, “I was in love with you too!”

Richie freezes, eyes large and mouth agape, and he lets out a choked sound, somewhere between a sigh and a sob, “What?”

“Yeah, you fucking ass. Why didn’t you start the conversation with that, five years ago. I- I wouldn’t have fucking left. Oh my god!”

“You were. In love. With me.” Richie stammers, his intonation very weird, as if he’s testing the words out, see how they feel in his mouth. He’s gone very pale.

“Uhu! I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I don’t think there has ever been a time I haven’t been in love with you!”

Richie hisses, “Been?”

“What?” Eddie asks, confused.

“You said you’ve _been_ in love with me. Present tense.” Richie sounds raw and slightly choked up. His eyes are very glossy, like he’s seconds away from crying. Eddie wants to rub his thumbs over the thin skin under his eyes to stop his tears from falling.

“Oh.” Eddie says, more of a breath of air than a word, “I- Yeah. So… I might still be a bit in love with you.”

“What?” Richie gasps, “Oh my god, you’re g- I thought… You and Beverly aren’t together?”

Eddie sends him an incredulous look, “What the fuck are you talking about? No, we aren't? I’m gay and I’m pretty sure Bev is in love with Ben. Either that or she’s drunker than I thought.”

Richie winces, but some colour has returned to his face, cheeks bright, “I thought… Well don’t bite my head off! You two left Derry together and used to live together. From what I’ve seen on social media the two of you are like, inseparable. And you’ve been holding hands and cuddling up against each other all night. She keeps referring to you two are _we,_ like you’re a unit. What was I supposed to think? I had no idea you were gay!”

“We’re best friends! This is unbelievable. Me and Bev?” His own voice sounds incredulous and slightly irritated, and he keeps doing that chopping motion with his hand that Richie and Bev always made fun of him for when they were younger. God, a few hours back in Derry and in Richie’s presence and he’s already reverting back to all his old childhood habits and characteristics.

“Fucking sorry!” Richie yells, “You can’t blame me!”

“This sucks so bad!” Eddie whines, “You _were_ in love with me and I _am_ in love with you. I feel like a fucking idiot! I can’t fucking stand this.”

Richie blush deepens dramatically, and he lets out a dry cough, “I might have lied earlier.” His eyes are very bright, and the overhead lights from the lampposts lining the road are forming a halo around his head. Eddie swallows hard.

“Oh, what fucking now?”

Richie takes a step closer to him, and Eddie instinctively steps back against the fence behind him. Richie moves after him, until Eddie is cornered, “I didn’t want to be too honest, in case you were, you know, still angry at me for loving you. But I am definitely _still_ in love with you.”

“How?” Eddie breathes, high pitched screaming inside of his head slightly disorienting, “I left Derry and broke your heart and never spoke to you again. You _should_ hate me.”

Richie lets out something like a growl, “My love for you isn’t conditional, Eds. You never had to do anything to make me fall in love with you and stay in love with you for almost twenty years. I’ve tried really hard to stop, actually. It’s just. I am. I can’t help it.”

“Oh.” Eddie breathes, and almost jumps out of his skin when Richie’s cold hand brushes again his, “I- Oh my god, Richie.”

Richie smiles, looking sly and genuinely happy, “Yeah.”

Eddie has just enough time to glance down at Richie’s pink lips before he’s surging forward to press their mouths together, bumping their noses together. The world tilts slightly on its axis, and then rights itself abruptly with the sensation of Richie’s soft, warm lips against his. Eddie’s brain goes completely blank, and Richie seems too stunned to kiss him back back until Eddie pulls his lower lip between his teeth and bites softly. Richie lets out a broken sigh and reaches out to grab both sides of Eddie’s face with large hands, moving his mouth against his, eager and needy, and Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest. He remembers, suddenly, the moment in Neibolt house when Richie had grabbed his face, just like he’s doing now, and screamed _look at me, Eddie, just look at me_ , as the werewolf made Its slow descent towards them. _Oh_ , he thinks, and presses harder against Richie, his arms coming up to grip his strong biceps, pulling him closer. The slide of Richie’s mouth against his makes his legs turn to jelly, and he thinks that the only thing holding him standing upright is Richie’s body against his front and the fence behind him. Richie makes a desperate, needy sound in his throat, thumbs rubbing against the underside of Eddie’s jaw, where bone gives away the soft flesh of his neck. Their chests are flushed against each other, and Eddie can feel Richie’s heartbeat through their sweaters, making him feel lightheaded. He moved his hands up Richie’s arms to wrap them around the back of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, feeling the soft curls against his palms.

Eddie used to think kissing wasn't really for him. He had never really got the hype. His first kiss had been tense and kind of bad, as the guy had used too much tongue, practically showing it down Eddie’s throat, and ever since then he didn’t really kiss any of his hookups on the mouth. He would turn his head, avoid their lips on his like the plague, and if they looked hurt or confused, he would ignore it. But here, with Richie’s tongue running over his bottom lips and over his teeth, Eddie realises it might have been less about the actual act of kissing and more about the fact that he hadn’t been kissing the right person.

God, if he knew kissing Richie would feel like this five years ago he might have travelled all the way to LA to push him against a wall and shoved his tongue down his throat. He feels insane with want, and hunger, and he pulls Richie even closer, leaning back against the fence to balance himself. It presses harshly against his lower back, but he can’t make himself care much about the dull pain of it when he has Richie moaning into his mouth. Richie’s hands move up to Eddie’s hair, running them through his slight locks, tugging softly and tilting Eddies head to the side to kiss him deeper. The sensation of it, of kissing Richie, crawls up his spine, zips around in his brain, makes its way down his throat and dances around in his chest, until it settles comfortably in the pit of his stomach, warm and fluttering. He feels hungry, starved, like he’s been craving this for years, waiting, wanting. He pushes deeper into Richie’s mouth, ravenous and needy.

Richie pulls back abruptly, staring at Eddie with wide, clear, warm eyes, and grins wider than Eddie’s ever seen, “I love you.” He whispers, leaning forward to kiss him again, this one slower and quicker than the last, before he’s pulling away again. Eddie whines needily and presses back against him, pulling Richie’s lower lip between his teeth. He feels insane. He wants to unhinge his jaw and eat Richie whole.

“I love you, skarbie.” He says against Richie’s lips, chest heaving at getting to say it. Knowing it means something to Richie. Knowing he feels the same.

“I’m going to cry.” Richie mumbles, and then runs his tongue over Eddie’s hard palate, which makes him shiver and slump against Richie’s chest. He’s embarrassingly hard, from just a few minutes of kissing.

“Don’t.” Eddie laughs into Richie’s mouth, “God, I’m so sorry. For everything. I hate that I hurt you.”

Richie pulls away again to look at him, and runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair again, nails dragging over his scalpt. Eddie shivers again. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care anymore. And I hurt you too. Neither of us meant to.” He smiles, “All I care about is the way your boner is pressed against my thigh right now.”

Eddie sputters indignantly, cheeks going very warm, “Fuck you! I- You're such an asshole.”

Richie grins mischievously, and moves one of his hands away from Eddie’s head to reach behind his head to grab one of Eddie’s hands. He leads it down between them and presses the palm of Eddie’s hand over his own erection, eyes glinting, “Fuck you too.” He laughs.

Eddie’s breath hitches, and he doesn’t move his hand away, just cups it slightly against Richie’s bulge, his brain feeling like mush. Apparently all his blood has traveled down to his dick. Richie looks breathtaking in the yellow light from the light posts around them, cheeks and nose red, glasses fogged up from their breaths, eyelids heavy and eyes warm. His mouth is slightly puffy and spit-slicked. Eddie wants to bite him.

“Oh.” He breathes, and then leans forward to catch Richie’s mouth again. Richie laughs slightly, which melts into a wretched moan as Eddie runs the heel of his palm over his crotch.

“I used to daydream about this.” Richie says, nose pressed against Eddie’s cheek, breath warm and wet against Eddie’s mouth, “I used to wake up in the mornings so hard from having wet dreams about you. About kissing you and making you feel good. And those goddamn fucking red shorts. That’s why I was so late to first period every day of tenth grade.”

Eddie snorts and nods sharply, running his fingers through Richie’s hair with one hand and curling his other hand around his erection, breathless and dizzy, “Me too. God, I used to jerk off to your fucking ridicolous shoulders all through high school. For a while after we stopped talking too, actually. I still do sometimes...”

Richie chuckles and looks entirely pleased with himself, “My shoulders?”

“You’re so…” Eddie gestures at Richie’s body with his left hand, keeping the other firmly in place over Richie’s jeans clad dick, “Big.”

“Way to make a guy feel insecure about his body, Eds. Thanks.” Richie grins, and Eddie knows it’s a joke, but he also knows what Richie sounds like when he jokes about something he’s actually insecure about.

Eddie growls, and pulls him in for another open mouthed kiss before saying, firm and serious, “Fuck off. No. You’re wide and strong and… God, I want to climb you like a tree. How tall are you?”

Richie looks a bit blurry around the edges, and he pushes his crotch harder into Eddie’s hand, “Uh, 6’2?”

Eddie groans, grinding his hips hard against Richie’s thigh, “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re so big.”

Richie laughs, sounding disbelieving, “You have a fucking size kink, don’t you?”

“Your fault. I didn’t even have… Ah, fuck. Sexual fantasies before you started growing into your long fucking limbs in high school. You just came to school one day all shoulders and chest, and I was afraid I was going to get a boner right there in math class. You made me feel fucking insane.”

Richie doesn’t reply, but he growls deep in his throat and moves to push Eddie’s jacket out of the way so he can shove his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s tight jeans. Eddie shivers and lets out a hoarse moan, sounding desperate. God, he hasn’t ever felt like this with anyone. Has never felt dizzy with want, overwhelmed with love and lust.

“Can I touch your dick?” Richie murmurs against his lips, and it vibrates through Eddie’s mouth.

“God, please. Fucking please.” Eddie breathes into the little space between them, “I think I will pass out if you dont.”

Richie laughs, pleased, and Eddie moves his mouth away from Richie’s to glance down as Richie opens the button of his jeans to shove his hand down them to wrap his big fucking hand around Eddie’s dick. His brain shortcuts momentarily, and all he can think about is Richie’s fingers around him, Richie’s dick pressed against his own hand, Richie’s ragged breath on his face, Richie’s spit on his own lips.

“Ah.” He sighs, “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Yeah?” Richie asks, glancing up at Eddie as he pumps his hand the best he can inside Eddie’s tight pants. Eddie wants to pull them down his thighs to give Richie better access, but the air is biting and they’re technically in public. Any unfortunate Derry resident can walk past as they walk their dogs, or on a peaceful midnight stroll, and catch them jerking each other off.

“Fuck, yeah.” Eddie moans, moving his hand eagerly against Richie, who’s rock hard, “I wanna touch you too.”

Richie huffs, “I- God, fuck I want that too. But I’m really worked up and I think I might come within seconds. I don’t want to get fucking jizz on my pants and have to walk back to Bill’s house like that.”

Eddie snorts, “And you think I want that?”

He does, sort of, not mind the idea. God, his brain isn’t working properly. He’s drunk - on Richie or the vodka shots or the pleasure that shoots hotly up his spine in time with Richie’s hand movements.

“No, but I don’t want to take my hands off you.” Richie grins, pressing his lips against Eddie’s and licking into his mouth, hot and wet, and Eddie feels like mush. His dick twitches in Richie’s hand. “I feel like a fucking teenager. I’m so fucking worked up.”

“Me too.” Eddie pants, “Do you want to go back to my motel room? It’s blue.”

Richie pulls away from him to grin at him, “It fucking _isn’t_.”

Eddie laughs, choking slightly on a moan when Richie twists his hand around him, “It is. I freaked out when the song came on earlier.”

“I noticed. You knocked back like three shots in the matter of minutes.” Richie hums, “God, you’re so fucking hot. When did you stop being cute and start being hot?”

Eddie snorts, enjoying the way Richie’s sort of grinding into his hand while keeping the hand wrapped around Eddie’s dick at the same pace, “In college when Bev told me what to wear.”

“No, you were definitely hot in high school. Girls used to flirt with you all the time. Don’t you remember how they lined up to dance with you at prom? And you turned them all down.”

Eddie knits his eyebrows together, and tries to remember any girls showing intrest in him, but his mind is very focused on Richie’s hand down his pants, at the warm tenseness building in his stomach, “Fuck… _Richie-_ I didn’t want to dance with anyone but you, but you didn’t offer, so.”

Richie sighs, “Fucking hell... I- Oh, yeah that’s good. _Fuck_.”

“Do you? Ah- _Shit_. Do you want to go back to my room?”

Richie looks smug, but also a bit disappointed, “As much as I would like to, I feel like we should rain check it for now. We should go back to the party for a little bit longer. You know, so Bev doesn’t put out a hit on me for like, kidnapping you.”

“Fuck, _oh_ , god that’s good.” Eddie groans as Richie squeezes his hand around his dick, “Will you come back with me later? After the party?”

“Of course, Eds.” Richie whines, “I want that so bad.”

Eddie leans his head back, exposing his neck, and Richie surges forward to bite him lightly. Eddie groans, “I’m very close, Rich. You- Fuck. You should, ah- stop.”

Richie sucks harshly against his neck, “I don’t want to.”

Eddie pushes slightly at his chest, “I don’t want to come in my boxers like some prepubescent horn- Ah fuck. Richie…”

“You can come in my mouth.” Richie says, as if that’s just something real people say outside fucking porn. Eddie groans loudly. He doesn't think he's ever been this horny.

“ _Fuck_. What? Ah. You can't just say stuff like that.”

“Please, Eds.” Richie whines, sounding absolutely wrecked, “Wanna make you feel good.”

Eddie’s about to bust right then and there, “Shit- Ok. Ah, yeah, Rich. Please.”

Richie grins against his neck, Eddie can feel the stretch of his mouth and the coldness of his teeth against his skin. He pulls his hand out of Eddie’s jeans without warning, and Eddie hisses obscurely, feeling disappointed and very, very horny. Before he can complain however, Richie has dropped to his knees right there in the snow, on the kissing bridge where he twelve years ago carved their initials into the wood of the fence, because he loved Eddie, and he loves him now, and wants to make him feel good. Eddie is somewhere between orgasm and breaking down crying. His heart is beating furiously in his chest. He can feel his pulse in his throat, frantic and reverberating.

“You’re so fucking hot, Eds.” Richie smiles up at him, looking affectionate and thilled, as if there's nothing he would like more than to satisfy Eddie’s, and Eddie reaches down to grab his hair, fingers gripping the soft curls. Richie groans and closes his eyes.

“I love you.” He whines, feeling like it’s been too long since he’s said it.

Richie opens his eyes and grins, reaching out to pull Eddie’s dick out of his boxers. Eddie thinks momentarily of his earlier thought about someone walking past. They are wide out in the open, right by the main road. They can see the closest neighbourhood in the distance, a few lights shining dimly in Eddie’s peripheral vision. Eddie’s dick is out in _public_. The wind picks up momentarily, and the cold breeze on his dick stings. He sucks in a harsh breath of air when Richie leans forwards and licks the underside of him, tongue warm and wet.

“ _Oh_ , Jesus Christ.” Eddie groans, forgetting all about public indecency, “Richie, fucking _hell_.”

Richie hums and takes Eddie’s entire length into his mouth, looking up at him with glossy eyes, eyelids. Eddie feels wrecked, and he throws his head back so hard he almost topples backwards over the railing, but Richie grabs his thighs firmly to keep him in place, chuckling slightly around Eddie’s dick. Eddie’s letting out soft little oh’s and ah’s, feeling absolutely fucking wrecked. Richie’s working his mouth over him at a steady pace, groaning everytime Eddie thrusts forward.

“Fuck, Richie- I- Ah, oh fuck. You’re so fucking good at this.” Eddie whines, staring down at Richie, vision blurry with tears. Richie’s looking up at him with soft, tender eyes, his mouth full of Eddie. He looks obscenely dirty, and so fucking hot. Eddie groans, and pulls his hair harder, which makes Richie close his eyes with pleasure and curl his tongue around the head of Eddie’s dick. It’s so insanely good.

“Rich, I’m- Oh, _fuck_. I’m not gonna last. Ah- You feel so fucking good. _Shit_.”

Richie just hums around him, speeding up. He looks like something right out of Eddie’s wildest sexual fantasies. It sends Eddie over the edge, the heat in the bottom of his stomach pulsing and releasing. Eddie blinks, hot white pleasure washing over him, blurring his vision and silencing his brain until all he can think about is the overwhelming pleasure. He pulls harshly as Richie’s hair as he twitches, gasping.

When he comes back down, there’s snow melting on his face, and in Richie’s hair. He’s gotten up from his knees, grinning, holding Eddie’s face in his hands again, “You alright there?”

Eddie hums, closing his eyes, and lets out a wheezy breath of air, “I’m fucking fantastic.”

“Think you blacked out there for a second.” Richie laughs, and leans forward to kiss him. Eddie can taste himself in Richie’s mouth, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s never been this into sex in his entire life. He’s usually repulsed and turned off by anything that isn’t straight up just handjobs and someone fucking him from behind. He feels reborn. A brand new man.

He pulls away from Richie, “Sorry, it’s been a long time.”

Richie quirks an eyebrow at him, “Since you last received a blowjob?”

“No. Or, yes. But that’s not what I meant.” He kisses Richie quickly, “I meant since I had an actually pleasurable orgasm. I might have just realised I haven’t had any good sex in my life.”

“That’s sad.” Richie frowns, rubbing his thumbs under Eddie’s eyes. There’s a tear there he hadn’t even realised had escaped his eyes. “You deserve to feel good, baby.”

Eddie’s head spins at the pet name, “I think it’s because… Uh, because it wasn’t with _you_.”

Richie grins at him, wide and unashamed, and looks brighter than anything Eddie’s ever seen. Looking at him is like looking into the sun, “We could always change that.”

Eddie laughs, his chest feels light and fluttery, “Oh, we’re _gonna_ change that.”

“So while this has been a scene right out of my teenage sex dreams and the hottest thing I’ve ever done.” Richie laughs, “The knees of my jeans are soaked with snow and I’m kind of freezing my ass off, and my phone has definitely been buzzing with texts for the past half-an-hour, so. We should probably head back.”

Eddie grabs Richie’s head and pulls him down so he can knock their foreheads together, breathing him in. He feels deranged, and overwhelmed, and so fucking calm at the same time. Like everything in the universe has aligned for them. Richie smells warm, like vanilla or sandalwood, and there’s a slight scent of tequila and sweat. Eddie wants to lick him all over. Swallow him whole. Richie smiles sweetly at him and leans down to kiss the wetness on Eddie’s face, mouth hot and soft against his skin. He feels ripped open. Exposed and naked.

“What about you?” He asks, voice hoarse. He coughs slightly to clear it, “You gonna be blue balling it for the next few hours?”

Richie snorts against Eddie’s cheek, “Jesus Christ. You didn’t use to talk like this in high school, did you?” He laughs, leaning back to take him in, “You used to give me so much shit for being so dirty when we were kids. All, _shut up Richie that’s so fucking gross_.” His imitation of young Eddie is all high pitched and whiney.

Eddie rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, but his smirk gives him away, “Because you were like, next level gross. And you always told the dirtiest jokes at the most inconvenient times.”

Richie hums, and presses his mouth against Eddie’s. It doesn’t have the same urgency as before, just a tender slide of lips, tongue darting out to lick across Eddie’s, almost shyly. Eddie’s toes curl, and he thinks that if he didn’t just come he might get hard just from the way Richie seems to kiss him with everything in him. Like he wants Eddie to know what kissing him means. Like he’s trying to kiss away everything they’ve been through, clown and Derry and five years without each other. Eddie thinks it might just work, with the way his brain turns to mush the second Richie licks into his mouth. It’s exhilarating.

When they draw back for breaths again, Richie smiles widely at him, “If you had talked to me like that in high school I wouldn’t have lasted a full day. I would have had to fucking dart to the locker room during class to jerk off.”

Eddie scoffs, “Why do you fucking think I chose track team over general PE?” He grins, “I wouldn’t have been able to handle you in those fucking ridicolous gym shorts, playing basketball or like, tennis. I would have had to go lie down in the nurse's office from the lack of blood going to my brain.”

Richie’s mouth does something interesting, a wide pull of his lips, mouth closed and upturned, like he’s fighting against a wide grin, “Fuck off.”

“ _You_ fuck off.” Eddie retorts, and then laughs unapologetically, “I’m serious though, are you just going to meditate away your erection so we can go back to the party and pretend like we didn’t just commit a felony by humping each other on a public landmark?”

“I think it’s a misdemeanor, actually.”

“Jesus Christ, Rich. Have you been researching this shit? It’s still punishable with like a thousand dollar fine, or up to twelve months.”

“I would pay our fines. It would be worth it.”

“Fucking hell. Do you want me to get you off or not?”

Richie blushes, and his eyes dart away from Eddie’s to glance down the bridge, “I- It’s not necessary. I kinda-” He huffs, looking back at him, cheeks still very red in the dim light, “I kinda got off on like, pleasing you.”

Eddie gapes, feeling dizzy and so in love it honestly hurts a bit with how hot it burns in his stomach, “You- Did you fucking cum in your pants?”

Richie groans, leaning his head back so his long neck is exposed, and Eddie surges forward to lick across his Adam's apple. Richie sucks in a breath, “Shut up, dude. I’ve been worked up ever since you walked into the living room in that fucking sweater vest earlier, and then I had your fucking dick in my mouth, which I’ve been dreaming off since I was like thirteen. So fucking sue me.”

“The sweater vest did it for you?” Eddie snorts, “If I have a size kink you have a fucking nerd kink.”

“Oh, yeah. That is not news to me.” Richie grins, “Remember those gingham sweater vests your mom used to make you wear over your polos when we were in grade school? I was obsessed with them.”

Eddie narrows his eyebrows at him, “I do not want to think about my dead mother right now.”

“Shit, sorry.” Richie says, looking a bit taken aback, “When I heard she died, I wanted to text you to give my condolences. I wrote out the message like fifteen times, and then chain smoked a whole pack while wallowing in my insecurities. I felt really shitty for not reaching out.”

Eddie shrugs, “It’s fine. I wasn’t that broken up about it. Bev got me drunk and we had an Alien marathon, and I was fine.”

“Still, I should have reached out.”

“Let’s talk about literally anything else. Please.”

“Alright.” Richie huffs, “What did you call me earlier?”

“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows furrowed, “When?”

“You called me something in Polish, I think.”

“Oh. _Skarbie_?”

“Yes, that. What does it mean?”

Eddie blushed slightly, “Uh, it means honey.”

Richie smiles affectionately, eyes glossy, “Can you call me other Polish pet names? I always liked it when you cursed at me in Polish when we were younger.”

“You’re unhinged.” Eddie laughs, but he indulges him, “ _Najdroższy_.” He leans forward and kisses Richie, wet and hot.

“What does that mean?” Richie is blushing furiously, a very soft smile on his lips.

“Dearest.”

Richie kisses him again, “More.”

“ _Słoneczko_.” He mumbles against Richie’s mouth, running his tongue over his teeth, “ _Babusiu_.” He sighs, licking into Richie’s mouth, “ _Aniołku_.” Biting his lower lip. Richie groans. “ _Kochanie_.”

Richie leans back to laugh, “Hah, _cock in hand yeah_?”

“Shut up, you fucking idiot.” Eddie snorts, amused, “ _Kocham Cię._ ”

“I know that one!” Richie says, excited, “You used to say that when we were younger. It means I love you, right?”

Eddie feels his own eyes go soft, and he can’t help but press his mouth against Richie’s again, licking his mouth open and running his tongue over Richie’s hard palate. Richie shivers, making a soft sound of pleasure. Eddie’s entire body is warm, despite the snow and cold wind. He feels like his intestines are on fire, consuming him from the inside out. He feels the best kind of insane.

Back when they were teenagers - right around the time Eddie had figured out why his chest felt like it was caving in on itself every time he watched Richie flirt with girls, or why his skin prickled for hours after Richie touched him - Eddie had started feeling uncomfortable with expressing his love to the male Losers. It hadn’t really been a conscious decision, on his part. He just started feeling weird about touching Bill, or laughing too hard at Mike’s jokes, or sitting shoulder to shoulder with Stan with each of their binoculars. Like he was doing something he shouldn’t. He saw how boys who touched other boys inappropriately were treated. So he had started expressing his love in Polish, knowing they couldn’t understand what he was saying. It let him be honest in secret.

Then one day, when they were around sixteen, Richie and Eddie had been the last two in the clubhouse one night. Richie had sat there for a while just looking at him, and when Eddie finally snapped, asking him what the fuck he was staring for, Richie had just laughed and said, _you’re always speaking Polish when you’re being sincere. Why is that?_ And Eddie had been at a loss for words, because he didn’t think anyone had noticed. But of course Richie had. Richie noticed everything, even when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

“Yeah.” He sighs into Richie’s mouth, “I love you.”

“How do you pronounce it? I always tried to learn it in high school, but you speak so fucking fast, especially when you speak Polish, so I could never keep up.”

“ _Kocham Cię_.”

“Kocham Cie.” Richie says, and it’s far from perfect, the phonemes a bit off, but it makes Eddie’s heart feel like it’s going to burst right out of his chest with how hard it’s beating against his ribs. Sixteen year old Eddie is running around screaming in his head.

“Good job.” Eddie grins, intrigued by the way Richie’s face takes on a weird sort of pleasured blush. He stores that information away for later.

“Thanks.” Richie asks, voice a bit pitchy, “What now?”

Eddie brushes one of Richie’s curls behind his ear, Richie’s skin warm against his cold fingers, “Now we go back to the party, and let our friends will try to guess what we’ve been up to since we left, until it gets so far from the truth we have to reel them back in, and they’re going to have a real field trip with it. Bev is going to pull you aside to grill you endlessly about your intentions, like a tiny feral cat.” Eddie huffs, “And we will smoke whatever ridiculous amounts of weed you and Mike have bought, and then we’ll stumble our way back to the motel with Bev. And we’ll kiss a lot. And etc. etc. etc.”

Richie snorts a laugh, “Yes, well obviously. Stan is probably also going to try to give you a stern talking to, but he means well, so just nod and smile and let him feel big. But, I meant more. What now, beyond the holidays.”

“Oh.” Eddie breathes. He hadn’t really thought that far. Trapped in the moment, here with Richie in the town that tried to kill them. Where an alien entity disguised as a clown tortured them for an entire summer for being gay. A town that had the highest hate-crime statistics in all of America up until 2008. All that had mattered to Eddie, until just this moment, was Richie’s body pressed against him, a post-coital bliss of being touched by the man he has loved since before he even knew what love was. It sort of feels like a big fuck you to the clown, to Henry Bowers, to Patrick Hockstretter; may they all rot in hell.

“Shit.” Richie sighs, stepping back slightly. Eddie reaches out for him immediately, feeling panicked, “I didn’t mean to. I mean we don’t- I’m not trying to like pressure you or something. I just…”

“I know.” Eddie hurries to say, holding Richie’s face in place with both hands, as if he’s afraid he’s going to slip through his fingers, “Richie it wasn’t a bad _oh_. I just- I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

Richie scrunches up his nose, looking thoughtful, “I suppose I want to, uh, never part from you ever again.”

Eddie smiles, cheeks feeling hot and chest feeling tight, “Alright. Me neither.”

“Oh.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can, Eds.”

Eddie fights the urge to complain about the nickname, but considering Richie just gave him the best blowjob of his life, he supposed he had earned the right to call him whatever he wants, “Why didn’t you ever move to New York? Why did you continue to do the SNL work from all the way over in Los Angeles when the main studio is in New York?”

Richie's eyes widen slightly, “Uh. I- Well, this is going to sound so fucking stupid. But I was afraid of running into you, so I limited myself to only staying for a week at a time for work. I thought maybe the less time I spent in the city the less likely it would be that I ran into you, like on the subway or in line at Starbucks.”

“I don’t buy from Starbucks.” Eddie says, for a lack of anything of substance to say.

Richie raises a brow at him, “Well, you get what I’m saying.” He laughs, “I don’t know. I was afraid of like, invading your space. It felt kind of like we split up the continent when we moved. When _we_ split. And I felt like living in New York would be like, unfair, somehow. Like I was taking part of what was yours.”

“No, that’s not-” Eddie runs his knuckles down Richie’s warm cheeks, “I’ve never been to California.”

Richie laughs again, more of a giggle, “Don’t go. It’s warm as fuck and people are very up their own asses.”

“What about New York?” Eddie asks, fingers still brushing against Richie’s jaw. His skin is slightly stubbly there, warm and defined under Eddie’s skin. He can feel the burn of it rubbing against the skin of his face still.

“What about New York? I suppose New York can get pretty hot too, but like, Los Angeles is on a different level. It’s hot like, ten out of twelve months a year. I’m talking about a ten month heatwave, and then like two months of a slight cold breeze. It sucks. And yeah, New Yorkers are pretty up their own asses, but in like a cool, self confident, honest way. No one has their shit together in LA, everybody is just pretending to. Plus, the public transport there is so much better, in New York I mean. It’s brilliant.”

“Richie,” Eddie interrupts, “While listening to your very insightful personal opinions about New York versus LA, that wasn’t really what I meant. I wasn’t asking about the fucking climate differences.”

“Oh.” Richie grins sheepishly, “What were you asking?”

“I meant, if you don’t enjoy LA that much, and doing your job would be easier from New York, and we want to be together; Why don’t you come to New York? With me. That is.”

“Oh.” Richie repeats, but his mouth is agape and his eyes are wide open, looking slightly glossy, “Uh. Dude.”

“Don’t dude me after I just came in your mouth.”

That snaps Richie back to normal, “No homo, _obviously_.”

“Fuck you. Are you just not going to answer my question? Because I’m starting to feel real dumb here.” Eddie huffs, pushing against Richie’s shoulder.

Richie reaches for his hand and places it against his chest, holding it there, “ _Dude_ , I can’t believe you’re even asking me that. I tried to tell you, five years ago, that I would go anywhere you wanted to go. I would go to LA if you came with me or I would go to NYC if you were there with me. Never have I cared about the location, _dude_.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, “Can you give me a simple yes or no? Just because you wanted that five years ago doesn’t clarify if that’s what you want now. I don’t want to pressure you to do something drastic like move in with me just because we committed a _misdemeanor_ together.”

“I think the fact that I did commit a misdemeanor with you clarifies my intentions pretty well.” Richie snorts, grinning widely, “I don’t commit misdemeanors with just about anyone. Or, I might, but not this sort.”

“Will you just fucking answer my question in a clear precise way?”

“You should know better than expecting that from me, Eds.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Eddie groans, closing his eyes against the building annoyance in his chest. He knows he’s not actually annoyed, mostly amused. It’s just that all his overwhelming emotions and feelings towards Richie had always manifested themselves in annoyance.

“Of course I’ll come to New York. I’ll fucking call my landlord right now to give up my apartment. I’ll go live on instagram and confess my love for you. I’ll tattoo your New York address on my forehead so that if I get lost people can just return me there. What the fuck, Eddie? Of course I’ll come.”

“Oh.” Eddie opens his eyes to find Richie grinning back at him affectionately, “Don’t do all that… Just. Ok. Good.” He leans forward to catch Richie’s mouth again. Their lips slide softly against each other, slow and hot, like they have all the time in the world. Eddie supposes they do, now. Richie’s breath is warm against his cheek, his stubbles rouch on Eddie’s chin, but Eddie has never felt this safe and comfortable in his entire life. He wants to melt into Richie and live in his skin.

As they walk back towards Witcham Street, hands swinging by their sides, Eddie momentarily freaks out about having to face Bill’s parents like this. They look undeniably like they’ve just jerked each other off in public. Richie’s hair is wild and sticking out at odd angles, the knees of his jeans are wet and his neck is splattered with hickeys and bite marks. Eddie can’t imagine he looks much more innocent. Richie’s hand is large and warm in his, and their steps match up so they’re walking in time, and Eddie feels a sense of contentment he hasn’t felt like he was maybe thirteen, racing down the street on his bike with Richie, Bill and Stan at his back. When they walk around the corner and Bill’s house comes into view, the rest of the Losers are out on the porch smoking. Eddie can smell the weed all the way over to where him and Richie are walking, three houses down. Beverly is the first one of them to look over, raising her hand in an amused greeting.

“Look who isn’t dead after all!” She calls into the quiet night. It must be around two in the morning by this point. All the other houses in the neighbourhood have their lights off, and Eddie would rather not get a noise complaint called on them.

He shushes her as they walk up the driveway, “You didn’t think I was dead for one second.” He says.

“Depends.” Bev shrugs, offering the joint to him. He grabs it with the hand that isn’t holding Richie’s, pretending he doesn’t see the way Patty and Bill oogles at them. He takes a deep toke before handing it to Richie, who’s grinning at him with a very red face.

“Depends on what?” He asks once he’s exhaled the smoke, leaning against the column of the porch railing.

“I would probably have been a bit more worried if I didn’t check your location on my phone and saw that you were at _the kissing bridge_ , and Stan said Richie’s phone was there too.” She grins, all teeth and eyebrows, “Connecting the dots wasn't that hard.”

“Right.” Eddie coughs, staring at something beyond her shoulder.

That just makes her laugh, hard, and sit down on Ben’s lap in the chair behind her. Ben looks very red. “Looks like you had a nice walk.” She nods at Richie’s legs, and Eddie refuses to look, because he knows just what she’s hinting at.

“It was alright.” Richie grins, squeezing Eddie’s hand in his.

Stan, who’s standing by the other end of the porch railing, leaning against Patty as they pass another joint between them, “So you finally talked then?”

“ _Talked_.” Bill hums, sounding very humoured, his head on Mike’s shoulder. He looks a bit wonky. Like he’s either really stoned, or really sleepy. Maybe both.

“Shut up, Bill.” Eddie and Richie say in unison, and then grin at each other.

“We talked.” Eddie nods, taking another hit. He doesn’t want to get too high, because he does have plans for when he and Richie go back to the motel. He hopes Richie’s thinking the same thing.

“A lot.” Richie winks, ignoring the way Eddie bumps their clasped hands into his hip bone, “Best _conversation_ I’ve ever had.”

“I bet.” Patty grins, “So you two are alright?”

“Yeah, wanna share with the class?” Bev asks, crossing her legs and leaning back into Ben’s chest with a very amused look on her face, “Was the whole thing as idiotic as we all always figured it was?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose at her, “If you thought it was so idiotic, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Her eyes glint playfully, “Oh, Eddie. I’ve been saying it for years. If I remember correctly, I said it in the car a few hours ago!”

“Whatever.” He huffs, leaning slightly against Richie’s upper arm. Richie gets the hint and lets go of his hand to wrap his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pull him in closer, “Yes. It was. Idiotic.”

Stan groans, “Well, glad we finally cleared up in that. Fuck you two.”

Richie laughs loudly, “Aw, thank you, Staniel. We sure did.”

“Shut up!” Eddie hisses.

“I’m glad.” Mike says, leaning slightly against Eddie so his upper arm bumps Eddie’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, “We all figured it was all mostly a misunderstanding, but neither would listen to reason, so we kinda came to the conclusion that you two would have to figure that out by yourself.”

“It sucked, obviously.” Ben says, over Bev’s shoulder, “But we didn’t doubt for a second that the two of you would find your way back to each other eventually.”

Eddie’s heart sings. The weed has calmed down his racing heart, and his body feels tingly and relaxed, and his best friends in the entire world are surrounding him, looking happy and relieved. Richie’s arm is heavy and reassuring over his shoulders, his head resting against Eddie’s. From inside the house, _Home_ by the Foo Fighters is playing, distinctive through the closed windows. In a while, Ben, Bev, Eddie and Richie will make their way back to the motel, and Eddie will spend all night and tomorrow morning trying to make up for lost time, and then Richie will figure out how he wants to do the move. If he comes back to New York with Eddie and Bev whenever they decide to go back, or he comes later, it doesn't really matter, because Eddie knows that in one way or another, they will be together.

“Me neither.” He grins, turning his head to kiss the underside of Richie’s jaw. Patty and Bev coo teasingly, and Mike looks like he’s about to cry. And Eddie’s so happy he could burst at the seams with it.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on twitter, im @richietozieer over there!


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